First Impressions
by Ithiliel Silverquill
Summary: When the legendary Glorfindel of Gondolin arrives in Imladris, everyone is overjoyed-everyone, that is, except Erestor. Both will be forced to look past their first impressions if either one is to ever have peace again. (No slash. Rated for violence.)
1. The Advent of a Hero

_**First Impressions**_

_**By Ithiliel Silverquill**_

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Tolkien does.

This story is dedicated to the fanfic writer **Erestor**, for being a brilliant beta and an inspiring friend. Your patience and encouragement are the reason this story ever made it. My deepest, sincerest thanks are not enough.

"_Many a time...from a bad beginning great friendships have sprung up." -Terence_

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_**Chapter One: The Advent of a Hero**_

Erestor leaned back in his chair and sighed. Five pages of thin, careful script were all there were to show for the last two hours of painstaking effort. He normally enjoyed his translation work—there was something intensely satisfying about taking an old story in archaic Quenya and rewriting it for those who spoke only Sindarin—but this document had been harder than most. And it was only halfway done.

He glanced toward the door of his room, wishing that something would come along to interrupt him. Something, _anything_, that would pull him away from five more pages of a lengthy description of the heraldry and traditions of the fourteen different lords of Doriath.

Suddenly he heard a commotion outside. It was a strange sound—not panic, but near it: a sudden uproar out in the courtyard.

Grateful for the disturbance, and at the same time a little bit ashamed that he would be grateful for any kind of disturbance, he calmly pushed back his chair and walked over to the window of his chamber.

There was a large group of Elves gathered under the trees near the entryway to Imladris. They all had a strange expression on their faces—a mixture of shock, disbelief, and wild joy—and no one was standing still. Even Lord Elrond was there in the thick of it, his usual expression of grave concern replaced by a wide smile of welcome.

But it was neither the Elves nor Lord Elrond that arrested his attention. The commotion was centered on a single rider, a tall Elf just dismounting his proud white stallion. The Elf stood almost casually, and there was an easy, almost careless, smile on his sharp-featured face. He was dressed in a cerulean tunic and gray leggings, and a dark blue cloak was spread over his broad shoulders. Over the cloak and tunic, reaching almost to the Elf's elbows, cascaded a gleaming river of bright golden hair.

* * *

Glorfindel gazed around himself at the people gathered for the feast and had to smile. Círdan had known just where to send him, that was for sure. Imladris was all that the old shipwright had described it to be—which didn't quite make sense, since the old Elf had never been to Imladris—but no matter. It was a wonderful sanctuary, a haven to rival what he had seen in Tol Eressëa and even the mortals' island of Númenor. Not that Elves were usually welcome in Númenor nowadays, but he had seen enough of the tall towers and sweeping architecture from the deck of his ship to admire the craftsmanship of the Edain.

It had been no easy journey to Imladris, he reflected. After being reincarnated by Mandos—without so much as being asked if he _wanted_ to be reincarnated—he had been able to spend precious little time with his family in Valinor before he was called to appear before Manwë. Once he was standing before the mighty Vala, he was told that he was going to be sent to Middle-earth, to guard and guide the heirs of Eärendil. Then he had spent months on a lonely ship, followed by a few fast-paced weeks in Mithlond with Círdan, and now he was here.

He sneaked a casual glance in Elrond's direction. There could be no doubt that the _peredhel_ was who he claimed to be. It had been an interesting meeting: Elrond had stepped forward from around a corner to greet him, and Glorfindel had taken one look at him and dropped his jaw, half-shouting "Your Majesty!" in his amazement. He hadn't been able to help himself. Elrond was practically a mirror image of his great-grandfather, and that one casual glance had almost tricked him into thinking he was looking at King Turgon again. Elrond had been very kind and understanding, if a little surprised, and everything had gone smoothly after that.

He moved on to study the less familiar faces. The introductions had been many and brief, and he could only remember a few names. Seated near Elrond was Belegon, the captain of Imladris's guard. He was a sturdy-looking Sindarin warrior, with chestnut-colored hair that came a little past his shoulders and vibrant green eyes. His face was as ageless as all Elven faces, but it was slightly careworn, as if he had not been left untouched by whatever he had to live through to reach his position. He looked relaxed as he chatted amiably with those around him, but it was obvious that, should the need arise, Belegon could be a formidable warrior.

Next to Belegon were two of his best warriors, an archer and a swordsman. The archer's name was Arandur, if Glorfindel remembered correctly. There was no mistaking the Noldorin blood in his veins, made obvious by both his gray eyes and dark hair, as well as his proud bearing. Glorfindel might have wondered if Arandur was ambitious for Belegon's position if he had not already seen the Noldo give a reproving look born of fierce loyalty to a slightly cheeky novice guardsman who had made a comment about Belegon. The swordsman, Malchathol, was another Sindarin Elf. He looked similar to Belegon, so much so that Glorfindel wondered if they were related. The only difference of appearance between them was that while Belegon's hair was light brown, Malchathol's was a dark shade of auburn. Their temperaments, however, appeared to be vastly different. While Belegon seemed open and friendly, Malchathol looked stern and unyielding. The swordsman did, though, seem to have the same loyalty to Belegon that Arandur and the other warriors shared.

He was interrupted in his appraisal of Imladris's military personnel by a slight movement in the corner. Because of the placement of the candles, one of the corners was slightly shadowed, and had whoever sat there not moved then Glorfindel would have missed him entirely. The figure was dressed in a dark robe—it was hard to tell whether it was black or very dark blue—and had straight dark hair cut so that it just brushed the top of his shoulders. His face was slightly pale, as if he spent all his time indoors. He must have felt someone looking at him, because at that moment he raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel's. Nothing was communicated in the momentary gaze, but Glorfindel wondered if it was a hint of animosity that he saw in the dark blue eyes. As quickly as he had looked up, the Elf looked away.

Glorfindel leaned over to Elrond. "Tell me," he whispered. "Who is that Elf in the corner? I do not seem to remember his name."

The Elf-lord glanced up, then smiled. "Ah, I do not believe you have met him yet. That is Erestor Caranárion, the chief advisor. I would like to introduce the two of you after dinner, if I may."

"I would be delighted," said Glorfindel absentmindedly, then he wondered if he really meant it. While most of the Elves of Imladris had been welcoming, Erestor seemed cold and unfriendly. Why would Elrond want such an unpleasant person to be his chief advisor?

No matter. If Glorfindel was to guard and guide Elrond, then he would have to remain at Imladris. And if he was to remain in peace in Imladris, then he would have to at least be on speaking terms with the high-ranking Elves. If that included Erestor, so be it.

* * *

Erestor pushed the food around on his plate and wondered if it would seem more appetizing if he was actually hungry. As it was, he was not in the mood to eat, and had only joined the rest of the Elves because he felt it to be his duty. There were perks to being Chief Advisor of Imladris, but required presence at "informal" official functions was not one of them. If given the choice, he preferred councils and business meetings. Things got done, and no time was wasted in purposeless chatter. Dinners bored him.

Only a minute ago he had caught another of the Elves staring at him. Normally he would simply ignore it, as he usually did, but in this case the curious Elf was none other than Lord Elrond's honored new arrival Glorfindel. So he had dutifully returned the glance.

He hoped that he had not appeared annoyed with Glorfindel. In all honesty he _was_ annoyed, though it would not be fair to blame it on the newcomer. It wasn't really Glorfindel's fault that his arrival had caused Lord Elrond to throw one of his spontaneous official dinners. The Elf appeared friendly enough, if a little flamboyant.

The rumor that was already being spread—even in the dining hall as Glorfindel was sitting nearby—was that the Elf was not in fact a namesake of the legendary Glorfindel of Gondolin, but the hero reincarnated. Erestor considered the idea, turning it over in his mind to view it from every angle. It was possible, but unlikely. According to the legends, some Elves could be reincarnated by Mandos, but they remained with their kin in Valinor or Tol Eressëa. He had never heard of a reincarnated Elf actually returning to Middle-earth.

Dinner only lasted for an hour and a half, though to Erestor it seemed like millennia. At last the call was given to proceed to the Hall of Fire, where those who wished to remain would take their seats and listen to songs or legends. He rarely spent time in the Hall of Fire when many other people were there, so he decided that Elrond would likely not miss him if he slipped off to his room to continue his translation work.

There would be no such escape. No sooner had Erestor entered the hallway when he heard Lord Elrond's voice behind him.

"Erestor, wait a moment," called Lord Elrond. "I wish to introduce you to someone before you take your leave."

No doubt it would be Glorfindel. Erestor turned around, hiding his annoyance at the delay with what he hoped was a smile. He dipped his head to Lord Elrond as the _peredhel_ approached, as if to remind himself that no matter what, he still served the Elf-lord. It would not do to be ungrateful for his position, he thought, and if he was this annoyed over simply meeting a guest then perhaps he should reconsider himself. The smile that he regarded Glorfindel with as the golden-haired Elf approached, therefore, was a little brighter, if a little more forced.

"Glorfindel," began Lord Elrond, "This is Erestor Caranárion, the Chief Advisor of Imladris." He glanced over at Erestor. "Erestor, may I present Glorfindel Alkamacarion, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin."

So he _was_ Glorfindel of Gondolin reincarnated. Erestor bowed slightly, not quite sure how to greet such a person. He had always admired Glorfindel of Gondolin, but it was almost surreal to be standing in front of him. "You are most welcome in Imladris, Lord Glorfindel," he managed.

Glorfindel smiled a wide, genuine smile that made Erestor's own look even more pathetic. "It is an honor to be welcomed into such a place, Master Erestor. Yet do not bother with a title—my name has enough syllables as it is."

At first, Erestor was too startled to respond. "As you wish," he mumbled weakly, with a glance over at Lord Elrond to see what _he_ thought of the casual disposal of protocol. To his surprise, the Elf-lord seemed to consider it humorous.

"Good day, then, Master Erestor," said Glorfindel, smiling and bobbing his head like a sparrow. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well."

Erestor turned to leave, since he saw that Glorfindel was already walking to the door to the Hall of Fire, when he felt Lord Elrond's hand on his arm.

"Erestor, a moment, please," said the Elf-lord.

"Yes, milord?"

"I want to know your opinion of Glorfindel," said Lord Elrond, looking Erestor straight in the eyes. "Círdan sent him to Imladris to be a help to us, and to me specifically since Glorfindel served my grandfather and great-grandfather in Gondolin, but I want to know your opinion of him."

Erestor considered how to diplomatically phrase his answer. "He seems...polite, I suppose, and very friendly. By all appearances, he will quickly become popular among Imladris's population. Though I ask: do we truly _need_ his help? Imladris is running quite smoothly, and I cannot see how the addition of another can be a benefit."

Lord Elrond smiled. "Oh, do not be deceived by appearances, Erestor. We need him. For one thing, I will need an assistant for the upcoming delegations with Mithlond. Ever since you agreed to go as Imladris's ambassador, I have wondered who I would trust to serve as chief advisor until your return. Glorfindel would perform the job perfectly."

_Too_ perfectly, Erestor wanted to say, but he bit his tongue before he said it. Why he was all of the sudden so adamantly set against Glorfindel, he had no idea. "Well, at least we know that Imladris will certainly change with his arrival," he said.

"Yes, it will," agreed Lord Elrond, punctuating the statement with a small chuckle. "I look forward to discovering what changes will be made."

Erestor bowed and slipped off, recognizing the contemplative look that crossed Lord Elrond's face as the signal that the discussion was ended. For once, he could not agree with the opinion of the Lord of Imladris. Lord Elrond seemed to welcome Glorfindel with the same air of glad relief that lingered in a dry field as the rain began to fall. Erestor was not so certain. Change was going to come, certainly. But he never said that the change would be a _good_ thing. He wasn't sure that he liked it at all.


	2. Subtle Invasion

_**Chapter Two: Subtle Invasion**_

Elrond felt like humming to himself. Glorfindel had only been in Imladris for a week, and already the entire household loved him. The golden-haired Elf had immediately set himself to work revising the manner in which Imladris was run; even Erestor had had to admit that they had benefited from Glorfindel's involvement.

That was the strangest thing, he mused. He practically had to force Erestor to admit that Glorfindel was a help to Imladris. The advisor seemed bent on seeing the new arrival as a problem. There was no reason for it that Elrond could see, and what was worse, Glorfindel returned the coldness. Though their first meeting had been cordial enough—due to his own presence, he realized—they mostly avoided one another now, and could only be made to agree if they were forced to.

It really was the strangest thing.

* * *

Erestor wanted to throw his books down in frustration. It took every bit of willpower he had not to stomp out of the council-chamber like an angry child. He had to be satisfied with simply glaring at his own reflection as he passed a mirror in the hallway, but he hardly felt appeased by the action.

"Valar, _why_ did you decide to torment me with that... that... _Glorfindel_," he growled under his breath, spitting out the Vanya's name as if it were a curse.

"Gracious, Erestor, is there a problem?"

Erestor jumped at the sound of the familiar voice coming from across the room that usually served as his study. He smiled shakily at the vibrant green eyes that met his without hesitation. "I am sorry, Belegon, I did not see you standing there. My mind was on other matters, I am afraid."

The captain chuckled and took a seat directly across Erestor's desk. "Apparently. Are you having... difficulties... with Lord Glorfindel? If I remember the past correctly, he was the one you most admired in the tales of Gondolin."

He snorted. "You are correct, and had he simply stayed in the tales of Gondolin, he would still be the one I most admire. At the moment, though, I could not agree more with the Balrog that pulled him over the cliff."

One chestnut-colored eyebrow rose. "What has he done to so upset you?"

Erestor opened his mouth to speak, then sighed and closed it again. In all honesty, he could not name any particular incident that had soured his opinion. "I do not know," he finally admitted. "Lord Elrond would entrust the whole of Imladris to his keeping without a second thought, and everyone else bends over backwards to see that his every need is met. He does not even have an official position, yet he is easily the most revered Elf east of Lindon. It just seems as though he _looks_ for ways to fray my nerves. He always finds the most demeaning or insulting things to say to me. He has little to no regard for protocol. Why, just this afternoon, a perfectly organized council meeting seemed at one point little more than a jovial dinner-party of old acquaintances! And the fault all falls on Lord Glorfindel. I doubt that that he could be serious if he tried."

Belegon shifted in his seat and gazed at Erestor thoughtfully. "You seem to judge him very harshly. Do you think he annoys you on purpose?"

"I do not know," he replied honestly. "It could be that he simply does not think before he opens his mouth. But even when he sees I am offended by his careless words, he does not look even the least bit apologetic."

A small smile crossed the lined face of the captain. "Erestor, if I have learned anything as the Captain of the Guard, it is that some personalities cannot coexist peacefully without extreme effort. Would you leave a dog alone in a room with a wolf?"

"No," said Erestor. He tried to imagine what a wolf would look like with golden hair.

"Exactly. They would tear one another to pieces. Yet in gravest need, it would be possible for them to put their quarrels behind them to confront a common foe. Perhaps it is that you and Lord Glorfindel simply have personalities that do not easily mix. Has it ever occurred to you that he may be as frustrated with you as you are with him?"

Erestor did not answer. _He_ was not doing anything to Glorfindel to antagonize him. He simply did what had to be done, in a firm and businesslike manner. Glorfindel was the one who had come in and caused problems.

* * *

Glorfindel strode down the hallway, singing a pleasant tune to himself as he walked. Golden sunlight streamed in through the windows and painted moving yellow patches all over the long burgundy rug.

The council had gone surprisingly well, considering the dry matter that had been discussed. With only the slightest bit of encouragement, most of the advisors and council members had relaxed. Even Lord Elrond had contributed his dry humor.

The only person that had left the meeting in a sour mood was the chief advisor. _Oh well_, thought Glorfindel. If Erestor wanted to be a grouch, there was nothing stopping him. He seemed to take every available opportunity to become offended.

Suddenly Glorfindel heard the sound of soft music. Startled, he stopped and stood still, then looked in the nearest doorway. That seemed to be where the lovely music was coming from.

A young Elf sat alone beside a shaded window, a harp in his lap. He appeared to be barely half-grown, just a child. His pale blond hair was tied back at his neck, and he had a vacant smile on his face, as if he was completely lost in his music. Thin, quick fingers moved effortlessly over the harp strings. He hummed quietly in harmony with the tune.

The harpist opened his eyes, startled, as Glorfindel strode into the room. "Lord Glorfindel!" he said when he recognized him. "Forgive me, milord, I didn't know you were standing there."

Glorfindel grinned wryly and waved away the title. "Never mind that. I heard you playing, and I thought it sounded beautiful."

The startled consternation on the harpist's face gave way into a pleased, shy smile. "It is kind of you to say so, Lord Glorfindel. I am still learning."

"What is your name?"

He dipped his head with respect. "Lindir Aerlindilion, milord."

"You need not call me 'milord,' Lindir," said Glorfindel, smiling at the young Elf. "Just 'Glorfindel' will do."

Lindir's eyes widened, but a tiny spark of admiration glinted in the light blue depths. "If that is what you wish, Lo—I mean, Glorfindel." He said the last word almost shyly.

"Good afternoon, Lindir," broke in another voice from the doorway. Both Glorfindel and Lindir looked up to see Erestor walk in.

Lindir smiled. "Good afternoon, Master Erestor."

"Good afternoon, Master Erestor," echoed Glorfindel, a frown falling over his face before he could stop it.

Erestor glanced over at Glorfindel as if startled to see him. The shadow of a frown flitted over his pale features, but it passed just as quickly as it had come. "Good afternoon, Lord Glorfindel. I do not suppose you have come to work with Lindir?"

Lindir leaned over to say something quietly into Glorfindel's ear. "Master Erestor is helping me with a few new songs," whispered the young harpist. "I create the melody on my harp, and he helps me to write the lyrics based on the old tales."

"What kind of tales do you use?" asked Glorfindel.

Lindir shrugged. "Whatever story seems to fit the mood of the tune. Last week we wrote a song about the tale of Beren and Lúthien. It was lovely, but at the same time very sad."

"I see," whispered Glorfindel.

Erestor, who had been rummaging around in a shelf on the wall of the room, returned with a parchment rolled up like a scroll. He unrolled it and handed it to the boy, then sat down beside him. "I thought that this tale might work well with that last melody you invented. This is the story of Aredhel Ar-Feiniel. Do you remember my telling it to you last month?"

Glorfindel's jaw clenched. Could Erestor have not picked a less painful subject? What was he trying to accomplish by pouring salt on an old wound?

Lindir nodded, oblivious to Glorfindel's discomfort. "She was Turgon's sister, the daughter of Fingolfin. She married Eöl the Dark Elf, and her son was Maeglin. Eöl killed her in Gondolin."

Erestor nodded gravely. "Yes. Do you think it will fit the melody?"

"Actually," put in Glorfindel before any further discussion could continue, "was that the tune I heard you playing when I walked in?"

"No," admitted Lindir. "What you heard was one I was making up as I went along."

Glorfindel smiled, ignoring Erestor's obvious annoyance at the interruption. "It reminded me of a song that we used to sing in Gondolin."

Lindir's eyes grew wide. "You remember songs from Gondolin?"

"Of course I do."

"Will you teach them to me? It would be wonderful to play songs in the Hall of Fire that have not been heard there before."

"I would be happy to," smiled Glorfindel. "That is, as long as Master Erestor does not mind." He looked pointedly up at the smoldering advisor.

Lindir shrugged. "He is not my teacher. My real teacher asked if he would help me with one of the older songs, and then I asked him for help with making new songs. Besides, you're an Elf-lord. Even if he _did_ mind, he would have to do what you told him to, right?"

Neither of the Elves answered. Glorfindel noticed that Erestor did not look at either Lindir or him; the advisor kept his eyes on the paper in front of him and gripped it until his knuckles were white.

Glorfindel cleared his throat uncomfortably. He had the distinct impression that he had gone too far. "Well, there is no reason why I should simply order him around. He _is_ Elrond's chief advisor, after all. If the both of you are busy with something, I can wait until later to teach you the songs."

He had expected Lindir to be the one to protest, but instead it was Erestor who stood suddenly and gathered his books and papers with an unreadable expression on his face. "There is no need, Lord Glorfindel," said the advisor in a terse voice. "As the boy said, I am not his teacher. It was merely a favor. If he wishes to work with you instead, I do not have the authority to protest."

Glorfindel started to answer, but was silenced by a quick glance from Erestor. The advisor's blue eyes were angry, but there was something else in them as well. They shifted back to the paper before Glorfindel had the chance to identify the expression.

"I bid you both farewell," said Erestor. He turned and left the room without another word.

Glorfindel felt a slight tug on his blue robe. "Which of the songs do you remember, Glorfindel?" asked Lindir, his voice high with excitement.

"What kind of song do you want to learn?"

"Something _happy_," the harpist said with a frown. "Master Erestor always picks the sad tales. I want to learn a song that will make people smile."

"Very well," said Glorfindel. He thought for a moment and then smiled. "I know just what tune to teach you. It was a favorite of mine when I was your age, and I think you will enjoy it too."

They sat in the small room until the sun began to set, and by the time they were finished the lesson, both Lindir and Glorfindel were pleased.

"Will you sing it with me in the Hall of Fire after dinner tonight?" asked Lindir, his eyes bright with anticipation.

Glorfindel shook his head. "It is not a duet, I am afraid. It would mean much more to the elders to hear their ancient song from the hand and voice of a child than it would to hear it from me."

"All right," said the boy, though he clearly did not understand Glorfindel's logic. "Will you come and hear me, then?"

He smiled and gave the child a quick hug. "Of course I will."

Lindir picked up his harp and trotted merrily to the door. He stopped before he exited and turned around to smile at Glorfindel one last time. "Thank you for the lesson."

"You are most welcome, Lindir. I will see you tonight, then."

The boy nodded and went out the door, the smile still gracing his childish face.

Glorfindel sighed and looked out the window. That last incident had undoubtedly ruined any chances he had had of befriending the prickly Erestor. He had really only meant to change the subject, not have Erestor dismissed completely.

_Oh well_, he thought. He stood and walked out the door. _I did not mean anything amiss; it was Lindir who took the idea and ran with it. If Erestor is truly wise enough to be Elrond's chief advisor despite his personality, then he will see that fact easily_.

Though for some reason, he doubted it.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**seeing-spots**: Thank you so much for your kind words for both "First Impressions" and "Snowballs"! I know you read a lot of work from the fanfiction "greats," so it's an honor to have a review from you. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to come!

**Lady of the Twilight Woods**: Yes, they're my favorite Elves, too. I'm glad you enjoyed this, and thank you for reviewing! I hope you are not disappointed with the rest!

**Silabrithil**: Your encouragement means a lot to me. Thank you for taking the time to review, and I hope you like the rest of this story just as much!

**Lady Elwen Iluvalatari**: Thank you, Lady Elwen! I appreciate knowing that I can keep "serious Tolkienites" happy as well as casual readers. I think I'm somewhere in between. I have to agree about my beta... she catches all of the silly mistakes I make and turns my "sloppy copy" into something passable. What do you see OOC about the characters? I wasn't aware of any OOC-ness, but I'm certainly not perfect!

**Erestor**: Praise where praise is due, my friend. You take all that time to beta for me; the least I can do is give you three lines. ;) As for the quote, I found it in Bartlett's and I couldn't resist. I was torn between this one and one from Aristotle, but this one applied more closely to the story. And I promise to update soon.

**Noldo**: Thank you so much for reviewing "Snowballs"! I was blown away to get a review from you, since I've admired your work for so long. I hope I can do more pieces like "Snowballs," but that story was very random. I will do my best. I think that Erestor deserves every fan he has, and more. I'm a diehard Erestor fangirl now. :)

_Coming Soon:_ Chapter Three: Departures


	3. Departures

_**Chapter Three: Departure**_

**__**

**__**

"You _WHAT_?"

Belegon took the advisor's shoulders between his two hands. "Calm down, Erestor. You're overreacting."

The dark-haired Elf stared at him with a mixture of disbelief, horror, and disappointment in his blue eyes. "Belegon Taurvagorion, how could you _do_ that to me?"

"You speak as if I had thought it all up myself. Sit down before you work yourself into hysterics."

Erestor sat down. He stared at his hands, not moving or speaking, as if his mind was too occupied with trying to absorb the new rush of information. "Belegon, _why_?"

He sighed. "Erestor, this is hardly reason enough for you to react so. All I said was that Glorfindel will be joining us on the delegation to Mithlond next week. Lord Elrond suggested it, and I gave my approval."

"How _could_ you?" pleaded Erestor. "Do you not understand how important this delegation is to Imladris? We will have no peace if Glorfindel comes along. Do you want what happened in that council three days ago to happen in the talks with Lord Círdan's folk at Mithlond?"

"Calm _down_," Belegon soothed, giving the flustered advisor a calm smile. "We are not going to fall into war with Mithlond over Glorfindel's presence at the delegations. Lord Elrond is merely sending him along for extra protection, since most of the Guard will be protecting Imladris's borders. He is an excellent swordsman, whatever else he may be."

Erestor bit his lip. "I was looking forward to this journey."

"There is no reason why you cannot look forward to it still."

"I thought it important that Lord Elrond trusted me to negotiate with Mithlond unaided."

"It _is_ important. Nothing has changed about that, you have my word. I sincerely doubt that Glorfindel will take any interest in contributing to the discussions. He only participates with Lord Elrond's councils because he is expected to as a notable citizen of Imladris. He is going as a guard, not an ambassador."

Erestor sighed, toying with the embroidered sleeve of his dark blue robe. "I thought that one of the reasons that Lord Elrond wanted Glorfindel to stay was that he needed someone to act as Chief Advisor while I was away."

Belegon shrugged. "He did not mention it, so I assume he changed his mind."

The advisor looked up at Belegon. "Why did you give your approval? You know how difficult Glorfindel can be."

He frowned. "The only person in Imladris who seems to have any difficulty with Glorfindel is you. One of the reasons I gave my approval to the idea was that I think that if the two of you are forced to spend time with one another, you will learn to work out your differences."

Erestor's face suddenly broke out into a wry smile. "You speak to me as you would to an Elfling that refused to get along with a playmate."

"Well, if you want my honest opinion..."

"Never mind." The advisor stood and sighed. "I suppose it will all work out to its end."

Belegon lifted an eyebrow. "I only hope that that end will be a desirable one."

"That remains to be seen." He offered Belegon a half-smile. "We will probably be either sworn friends or sworn enemies."

"Ilúvatar forbid the latter," he said, rolling his eyes heavenward. "I would have to bind and gag you both in order to make it back to Imladris in peace."

Erestor shrugged. "We could always drown him once we got to Mithlond."

"We could always drown _you_ instead. Or even both of you."

"I doubt even the Sea is large enough to allow me to be as far from him as I would wish," said Erestor with a mirthless chuckle.

Belegon shook his head. "I _long_ for the day when you and Glorfindel will put an end to this foolishness. You are both acting like squabbling Elflings, not a Chief Advisor and an Elf-lord."

"Dogs and wolves, my friend," said Erestor as he gathered his books and papers to leave. "Dogs and wolves."

* * *

Glorfindel tightened the drawstring on his pack one last time. They were almost ready to leave. He had brought just enough to get to Mithlond; when he arrived, he could get what he needed there. 

He was more than a little concerned about what would happen on the journey. Captain Belegon had said that it would take about five days to ride there on horseback, unless bad weather delayed them. There was always the possibility of a snowstorm, so he had made sure to pack his warmest cloak. It was a soft dove-gray cloak, a gift from Círdan for the journey to Imladris, since at that time the frost was just beginning to coat the autumn leaves. Now the weather was brewing for the first snowstorm of the season.

Other storms seemed to be brewing as well. When Belegon had informed him of the trip, he had mentioned speaking of it to Erestor. He had not specifically stated that Erestor had been upset, but Glorfindel inferred that the advisor had not been pleased. He was not overly eager himself to spend two weeks traveling with the ill-tempered Erestor, but he was simply following Elrond's request. If Elrond wanted him to go, he would go. Erestor would just have to endure Elrond's decision. It wasn't as if either of them had a choice.

He shouldered the pack and stepped into the hallway, nearly running into someone in the process. There was a moment of confusion as both he and the other Elf tried to disentangle themselves, and then Glorfindel figured out who it was.

"Erestor!" he gasped. "My apologies, I did not see you."

"Think nothing of it," said the advisor gruffly, adjusting his weighty pack. He was dressed the same way as always, but had exchanged his dark robe for a dark cloak of the same hue.

Glorfindel briefly considered whether or not to offer help. Erestor's pack looked as if it weighed as much as he did—though in reality that was not very much—and he appeared to be struggling under the burden. Glorfindel decided that he might as well be polite; the collision had been his fault, after all "Would you like a hand with that?"

Erestor seemed taken off guard by the offer. "No, thank you," he said, then stopped and seemed to ponder something. He let the pack slide off his shoulders, and then he opened it and retrieved a thick leather pouch. The rest of the pack appeared to be normal items for a journey, at least for a person like Erestor: clothes that all looked the same, a bundle of fresh quills, a large sheaf of paper, a jar of ink, a bound volume that was several inches thick, and a hairbrush. The last item was such a contrast to the rest that Glorfindel chuckled to himself, but Erestor apparently took it the wrong way. He closed the pack quickly. "I like to read," he mumbled defensively.

Glorfindel blinked and decided that if that was a touchy subject, he might as well leave it alone. "What do you have in the pouch?" he asked lightly, picking it up to examine it.

Erestor snatched it out of Glorfindel's hands. "This pouch contains the reports, documents, and notes necessary for the meeting with Lord Círdan. They are irreplaceable, and so I cannot let them out of my sight." He shouldered the pack again—it appeared to be much lighter—and put the strap of the pouch over his neck and shoulder. "We must be off."

Glorfindel stood still a moment and crossed his arms as Erestor walked away. The advisor was the only person he had ever known that could make him feel completely unimportant.

Well. If Erestor preferred rudeness to civility, then Glorfindel was under no obligation to go out of his way to be friendly.

* * *

Rasaras Eltatharion breathed deeply of the crisp air. It stung his senses, filled his lungs with a slight chill. He breathed out, smiling at the slight cloud that his breath made in the morning air. Today was the day. 

"Rassa! Rassa!" A plaintive call came from inside the house. He turned around just in time to catch a small, wiry child that came flying at him. "Rassa, you can't go!" said the Elfling into his neck.

He smiled, giving the girl a small hug. "Don't worry, Alphien. I will only be gone for two weeks."

The nest of silver-blond curls shook insistently. "But you can't!"

He chuckled. "Why not? It is important."

"Because you'll miss my party." Alphien was going to have a small party with a few friends to celebrate her begetting-day. They did not usually celebrate the day, but twelve years was considered to be something of a landmark for young Elflings, and Alphien was very excited. Unfortunately, because of the timing of the delegation to Mithlond, Rasaras would miss his little sister's party.

"I will celebrate with you as soon as I get home, I promise," he said with an apologetic smile. "Perhaps I will even bring you something from Mithlond."

She looked up at him, tears brimming in her light blue eyes. "But I want you to be at the party."

He grimaced. "I'm sorry, Allie. I wish I could be there, but this journey to Mithlond is very, very important. I was the only inexperienced warrior asked to come. Captain Belegon asked me to come with him and two other warriors, as well as Lord Glorfindel and the Chief Advisor, so that I could gain experience outside of Imladris."

Alphien sniffed. "Are you going to fight like Ada?"

"Just like Ada." Their father, Eltathar, had been a respected archer of the Guard for many years. However, he had left the Guard when Alphien was born, so that he could help support his family—at least that was what he had said. It was not uncommon for survivors of the bloody attempt to retake Eregion to lose all desire for warfare or armed defense. Sauron had been driven out of Eriador with the help of ships from Númenor, so the lands were at peace.

Now, Eltathar helped to train new Guard members instead of fighting himself, but he had been thrilled when Rasaras had shown himself to be gifted with the use of a bow. He had spent long hours with his son, honing his skills, until Rasaras had been accepted into the Guard with Elves more than twice his age. It had taken extra effort for Rasaras to prove himself to the older, more experienced Guard members, but eventually he had earned their respect. It was an interesting camaraderie—all of the warriors treated him as if he was their own son. He had never been happier.

"You won't get hurt, will you?" asked Alphien, her eyes growing wide.

He chuckled. "No. It is not a dangerous journey; we are merely escorting the Chief Advisor to Mithlond as an ambassador. But Lord Glorfindel will be there, and I hope he will be able to teach me what he knows about weaponry and warfare."

They were interrupted by the arrival of two Elves. Eltathar walked beside Rasaras and Alphien's mother Aranna, their faces proud but grave.

"Are you ready to depart, Rasaras?" asked Eltathar.

"Yes, Father," said Rasaras. He stood and set Alphien back on the ground, then reached down and picked up his bag. "Our company will depart in half an hour."

Eltathar nodded. "I thought that perhaps we should leave now, so that we have time to travel to the main building of Imladris. Your mother and Alphien will stay here."

Alphien wrapped her thin arms around Rasaras's legs as he said goodbye to his mother. "Don't go!"

He bent over and planted a small kiss on the top of her curly head. "I will see you when I return. Behave yourself while I am gone, Allie. Have a good time at your party."

"Rassa!" she wailed. She refused to let go of his legs and had to be pried off by her mother.

"Come, Rasaras," said Eltathar, heading out the door. "I will return in an hour, Aranna."

Rasaras shouldered his bag and followed his father, turning to wave one last time to his mother and sister.

The footpath from the small cluster of houses to the main complex of Imladris was short and fairly direct, so Eltathar set an unhurried pace. They traveled for a while in comfortable silence.

"Rasaras," said Eltathar suddenly, "I wanted to tell you something."

"Yes, Father?"

The tall Elf turned to look at Rasaras intently. "This journey will affect your position as a member of the Guard. If while on this trip you are able to prove yourself to Captain Belegon and the others, you will probably be given an even higher position than the one that you already hold. If you do not, it may be a long time before you receive an opportunity like this again."

Rasaras smiled. "I promise that I will do my best. I will not disappoint you."

"There is little danger of that, my son. I only mean to remind you to perform to your utmost. I know what you are capable of doing, and it would be a shame if you were passed over for recognition that I know you deserve."

There was a moment of silence. Rasaras felt warmed by his father's praise, but at the same time he suddenly felt extremely nervous. Suppose he said or did the wrong things? Suppose everything went wrong and he brought shame to his family and all of Imladris?

Eltathar seemed to read his thoughts, and he placed a reassuring hand on Rasaras's shoulder. "Do not spend your time worrying. All I am asking you to do is your best. Learn what you can from the guards you will be traveling with, especially Lord Glorfindel. He can teach you many things that I cannot."

"I will," promised Rasaras. Just then they came to the top of a hill, and beneath them lay Imladris, nestled in the valley like a jewel. The sight of it never became so familiar to Rasaras that it ceased to take his breath away, and he stood for a moment looking down on it with a proud feeling in his heart. This was Imladris, queen among the realms of the Elves, and he was one of her sons.

He felt his father give his shoulder a small squeeze. "If you like, I will let you go on alone from here."

He turned to look at his father. Eltathar stood tall and unwavering, the rising sun glinting on his light blond hair. His jaw was firmly set, but love and pride practically radiated from his azure eyes. Rasaras captured the image in his mind—this was his father as he had seen him often, but at the same time never _really_ seen him. Eltathar to him was a paradox of trainer and father, master and guardian. He respected him as a mighty warrior, but knew the gentle side of him as few others did.

Eltathar smiled. "Take care of yourself, my son. Make us proud."

"I will, Father," he said earnestly, returning his father's smile with a shaky one of his own. "Farewell."

"Farewell, my Rasaras. May the Valar protect you."

Rasaras walked on down the path. He kept his eyes on the road, not daring to look back. He felt a strange sensation of loneliness overtake him, as well as the distinct feeling that he had left something behind him that he could never regain.

Before him lay Imladris. Before him lay his future: not just for the next two weeks, but for the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath and walked on. He did not look back.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

First of all, sorry this chapter took so long to get out to everyone! It was an editing nightmare, and I'm still not one hundred percent sure of the final copy, but I decided that I had left you all hanging for long enough. To make it up to you, I'm posing two chapters at once. Enjoy!

**Rous: **Thank you so much for your kind words! I agree, there is hardly enough Erestor fanfiction. He needs more fans! I hope you enjoy these next chapters!

**Elwen:** Once again, thank you! I see what you mean about Glorfindel and Erestor's enmity being OOC... yet therein lies the story, and we shall see if it is all resolved at the end. All this is taking place before even the Daglorlad, so Glor and Ress still have a long way to go before we get to where their characters are in LotR. I enjoyed writing the harp scene—little Lindir is fun to work with. All in all, as long as you're enjoying the story, I'm perfectly happy.

**Lady of the Twilight Woods**: Sorry this took so long! I hope these were worth the wait. Thank you for your review!

**Coolio02**: I'm glad you enjoyed them, and I hope you enjoy these as well. Thank you so much for your kindness!

**Erestor**: Yes, Glorfindel does tend to take over, doesn't he? He just seems like a natural leader. I hope you like this final version of Three; I pretty much put back all the Rasaras and then trimmed it down. I hope it's not too much. I'm glad you're enjoying it; after all, that's the whole point!

**Noldo:** Ah, Fëanor. I can take or leave him, really. His second son, though... :D Everyone has to do a "Glorfindel Returns," "Legolas and Aragorn," and "Maglor Angst" story, it seems. I have 2 out of 3 so far! I agree about change: even Tolkien himself discussed how the Elves resisted change in any form. The humor just kind of slips in by itself... it comes with Glorfindel automatically, I think, and Erestor has an interesting sense of humor all his own. Those two are so much fun to write. Thank you for your kindness, and I hope you like the rest of it!

**seeing-spots: **I only give out kind words to those who deserve them. ;) I'm glad you're enjoying the story! This is the longest work I've ever done, and even I am surprised how far I've managed to come without letting it drop. I can assure you that I _will_ finish it, and I hope at the end you decide it was sorth the wait. Enjoy it, and thank you for reviewing!

**Avalon Estel**: Thank you for reviewing "Snowballs"! Glorfindel, for all his grandeur as an Elf-lord, does tend to have a playful side, especially in fanfiction. I have not the slightest idea where I got the inspiration for that fic, but I'm glad you enjoyed it!


	4. Something On the Wind

_**Chapter Four: Something On the Wind**_

Erestor sighed for the fifth time in ten minutes. This was not at _all_ what he had been looking forward to for the past few months. He had expected a pleasant ride for a few days, then a stay in Mithlond full of new sights and stimulating discussions and debates, then an equally pleasant ride back home. What he got instead was a chance to ride behind Glorfindel and his group of new devotees. He might as well have been a piece of baggage on his horse's back.

He could hear Glorfindel talking and laughing with the other warriors near the front of the procession. Glorfindel, he had realized, could charm a smile out of almost anyone: even Arandur, who seemed to look at everyone but himself with scorn, was completely taken by Glorfindel.

"Only I have not fallen to his blithe madness," grumbled Erestor. He had absolutely no desire to be any closer in friendship with Glorfindel than he was with Glorfindel's horse. The Vanya was either reckless, giddy, or touched in the head. Perhaps he was all three.

The weather was unpleasant as well—the sky was heavy with gray clouds, the kind that meant snow. White flakes were already falling, and he had to pull the hood of his cloak up so that he would not have wet hair later. He could walk atop snow—though he was not sure whether or not his horse could do the same—but at the same time it was a nuisance. Another nuisance on the ever-growing list of nuisances.

Suddenly the whole procession came to a halt. It happened so quickly that Erestor had to hold on to his horse Súlfëa's mane, so that the mare did not throw him to the ground in her surprise. "What is the problem?" he called to the front, annoyed.

Belegon turned around to speak to him. "The river has frozen over, and we do not know whether or not the ice is thick enough to cross safely."

Erestor dismounted and led Súlfëa to the front, to get a better look at the river. Sure enough, the water was covered with ice and a light dusting of snow. "It must have frozen last night. We should probably wait a day or so, to make sure that the ice is thick enough to cross."

Glorfindel came and stood on the other side of Súlfëa. He shook his head. "We need not wait. When I came through here on my way to Imladris, the water was already cold. It has probably been frozen for at least a week."

Erestor shot Glorfindel a look of disapproval. "It would be safer not to simply assume."

The warrior gave a sigh of longsuffering and turned to look at him. "There's no reason for you to be so paranoid all the time, Erestor. We have neither the time nor the supplies to simply camp by the riverside until the dead of winter! Elrond and Círdan will think that we were lost along the way."

He ignored the barb. "We do not have to stay for weeks, just overnight, to be certain! Would you rather wait a few extra hours, or have yourself and your horse fall through the ice and freeze to death?"

Glorfindel laughed. "Oh, stop your ceaseless worrying. No one is going to fall through the ice. Here, watch and see for yourself." He moved past Erestor and stepped easily onto the frozen surface of the river.

"Stop! Should you not at least wait for Captain Belegon's orders?" Erestor called, but it was no use. The reckless Vanya was already nearly halfway across. Erestor turned to Belegon. "Should we not call him to turn back and wait?"

Belegon held up a finger. "Wait a moment." He called across to Glorfindel, "Is the ice thick enough?"

Glorfindel and his horse reached the other side of the ice, perfectly fine. Glorfindel slid a little bit, but he clutched his horse's mane as the animal stepped onto firmer ground. "Wonderfully thick!" he called back to Belegon.

Belegon turned to Erestor and the others. "Well, if he says it is safe, there is no use lingering. Be careful, though, and do not ride. Lead your horse slowly and watch for cracks."

Erestor waited until he was last in line before he put his boot onto the slick surface. His breath formed a misty cloud around his face. He tried to avoid the footprints in the snow of the Elves and horses that had come in front of him, just in case their steps had weakened the ice. He had absolutely no desire to fall into the river.

He and Súlfëa were nearly halfway across when Erestor's worst fears were realized. He had begun to relax a little, and he had glanced casually up at the company beginning to reorganize on the riverbank. Without noticing, he stepped right onto a crack in the river. The ice gave a moaning, creaking sound before it shattered right under his feet.

He gasped with surprise and grabbed at Súlfëa for support, clutching fistfuls of her snow-white mane. Súlfëa, who had already been nervous on the frozen river, whinnied with fright and bolted. She dragged Erestor off of the sinking ice and sprinted a few paces before she listened to Erestor's half-shouted commands to stop. He tried to stand as soon as she had come to a fidgety pause, but his boots had become wet in the freezing-cold water and the thin layer of ice on the bottoms of the boots gave him no traction whatsoever. He shuffled and slid to something resembling a standing position, but his first attempt at a step toward the safety of the opposite bank was a miserable failure. His foot slid out from beneath him and he came down painfully on his left knee.

Belegon stepped back out onto the ice. "Erestor!" he called. "Are you all right?"

Erestor pushed a few strands of wet hair out of his face with a free hand. He was slightly embarrassed at his careless fall and inglorious pose, and the chagrin was swiftly turning into extreme irritation. "Of course I am!" he shouted. "The ice is _wonderfully_ thick!"

Belegon did not answer. He turned back to the group of warriors and resumed talking with them.

Erestor huffed with frustration, both at the ice and himself. Belegon had only meant to help, and he had gone and snapped at him. "Valar, _why_ did we have to bring Glorfindel?" he whispered. "If he had not been here, we would have waited." No doubt Belegon would have decided to wait; after all, it was the smart thing to do. Glorfindel had simply charged recklessly forward, and now Erestor was paying for it. "Imbecilic Vanya," he muttered.

It was a full five minutes before he finally made it to the other side of the treacherous ice. He had to clutch Súlfëa's mane the entire time, an action that did nothing to help the skittish mare's temperament. It was nearly impossible to walk on the ice without putting weight on his knee, and cold snow was beginning to melt through his sleeves. He dragged himself up onto the bank, and immediately Belegon stepped forward and helped him to his feet. "Are you all right?" the captain asked.

He sighed. "Yes. I apologize for snapping at you; I did not mean to lash out."

Belegon shook his head. "It is long forgiven. Come and join the group. We will continue as long as we can before stopping for the sake of the horses."

"Very well, Captain."

The warrior nodded and gave Erestor an encouraging slap on the back before heading on to join the others.

Erestor looked back at the frozen river and scowled at what he saw. Not only was the spot where he had fallen barely noticeable, his footprints were also already nearly hidden by a deepening blanket of snow.

He shook his head and walked on to join the others.

* * *

Glorfindel paused for a moment to shake snow out of his hair. He had neither put up his hood nor even braided his hair back since they had left Imladris, and tiny bits of white powder were catching in the loose golden strands.

He turned to Belegon. "How are the horses, Captain?"

The captain nodded. "Fine for now, but if this snow continues, we might have to seek shelter. Do you remember any ideal locations from your journey from Mithlond?"

He shook his head. "No. I kept an even pace, and only paused every few hours. It all went by very quickly."

"Let us hope that this journey does the same," said Belegon, frowning up at the clouds. "I fear that the horses may lose their footing in the drifts. Besides, I would like for all of us to rest a bit before we continue. It would not do Imladris any favors if we were to all come limping and panting into Mithlond like bedraggled waifs."

Glorfindel laughed and dropped his voice. "Only one of us will be limping! Though as long as he takes care to wipe the scowl off of his face before we enter the gates, he might look more like a respectable Chief Advisor and less like an indignant wet cat."

The warriors that were close behind them burst out laughing, and Belegon was taken by a sudden coughing spell. Glorfindel glanced back to see if Erestor was glaring at him, but the advisor was trudging along a few feet back and did not appear to have heard. The dark-haired Elf glanced up and saw Glorfindel looking at him, but Glorfindel just gave him a wide grin.

"Glorfindel, that comment was unnecessary," hissed Belegon as soon as he had regained his ability to speak.

Glorfindel gave him a sidelong smile. "What do you mean? I only said what everyone else was thinking."

"It was still unnecessary. Would you appreciate it if someone said that about you?"

He shrugged. "It would make no sense. _I_ don't look like an indignant wet cat."

"No, I agree, you do not," came a voice suddenly from behind them. It was Erestor's voice, and it was tight with pain and irritation. "You resemble a large, overconfident dandelion. Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, indeed!"

Glorfindel frowned. If anyone else had called him that, he would have laughed as hard as everyone else was laughing. The way Erestor had said it, however, made it sound like a serious insult.

Belegon stopped laughing and looked at Glorfindel, then at Erestor. He sighed. "Valar, can a peace exist between the two of you for even one hour?"

"Oh, Captain, they mean no harm," put in Arandur from Glorfindel's left. "Merely jests to lighten the monotony of the journey."

"Jests, indeed," spat Erestor under his breath, barely loudly enough for Glorfindel to hear. The advisor was at the moment clinging to his horse's mane for dear life as he struggled to dig himself out of a snow-bank. The horses could not walk atop the snow, and so there was a deep trail where they had walked. Erestor had to lean on his white mare for support since he had injured himself on the ice, and in the process of walking he had become nearly buried in a deep snowdrift. His reddened face, with strands of stringy dark hair clinging to it, made him look very much like a drenched, angry cat.

Glorfindel smiled at the sight. His annoyance with the stuffy, acrimonious advisor was passing away swiftly. He began to chuckle, then laugh. "Erestor—you look ridiculous!" he said between gasps of mirth.

Erestor's face went past irritation to an expression resembling that of an angry warg. "I hope that my presence is not an affront to your dignity, Lord Glorfindel," he said in a prim voice of deadly calm.

He grinned. "No. The Sun shines brighter with contrast." He stepped over to offer Erestor a hand. "Would you like some assistance, Master Feline?"

Contrary to what Glorfindel expected, Erestor took the offered hand without hesitation. The advisor pulled himself out of the drift with surprising speed, then swiftly maneuvered himself around and shoved Glorfindel face-first into the drift. He leaned back against his mare and smiled triumphantly. "Thank you for your help, Lord Posy."

Glorfindel came up spitting snow. He glared at Erestor and was almost ready to launch himself at the smug advisor, when Belegon suddenly cleared his throat rather loudly. "Master Erestor, Lord Glorfindel—I believe we must press forward," said the captain with a note of warning in his voice. "The wind is picking up, and if it brings more snow then we need to have a shelter, if only for the sake of the horses."

Erestor turned to Belegon and gave him a winning smile. "I quite agree, Captain. Shall we go, then?"

Glorfindel struggled vainly to pull himself out of the snow as the rest of the company began to regroup and press forward. He was only saved when the youngest of the warriors, the archer Rasaras, stepped forward to pull him out of the drift.

"Are you hurt, milord?" asked Rasaras.

Glorfindel gave a wry grin and brushed himself off. "No, I am intact, save perhaps my dignity. Come on, let's join the others."

* * *

The wind howled and swirled around Erestor's face, tugging his hood and hair in all directions. He staggered in the snow and clutched Súlfëa's mane with all his strength. He could barely see through the thick snowfall—it was a blizzard. "Just our luck," he groused under his breath.

Súlfëa stumbled in the snow and neighed, her nervousness increasing tenfold as she struggled to walk in the deep snow. Erestor nearly lost his footing along with her.

"Captain Belegon!" he called above the wind. "Captain, we cannot go on any longer! The horses cannot keep their course in this snowfall!"

He could faintly see Belegon outlined against the swirling masses of white. The captain turned and nodded. "We have come about ten miles since the river—I believe I know of a nearby cave. It is between two trees, beside a brook."

The whole company spent the next twenty minutes searching for the cave. It was hard to make out much of anything in the thick snowfall. Every mound of snow looked the same, and it was difficult to tell what was a rock, stump, or snowdrift. The search dragged on fruitlessly, and Erestor became more and more disheartened with each false lead. Suppose they did not find the cave at all? Would they be forced to simply abandon the horses with their blessing, and go on alone?

At last they heard Rasaras's high, thin voice above the wind. "Captain Belegon! I found the cave!"

They followed the sound of his voice and found him standing beside the yawning entrance of gray hard rock. Erestor immediately disliked it—there was something intensely foreboding about the cave's opening. Stalactites and stalagmites framed the entrance like a dragon's teeth, opening up to swallow them whole. He turned to Belegon. "Captain, are you sure we should enter?" he said.

Belegon hesitated a few seconds before nodding. "We cannot go on in this weather. We have no choice. Malchathol, Arandur, go on inside and see if it is clean and dry. Rasaras and Glorfindel, gather the horses together, and Erestor and I will lead them into the cave and see that they are settled."

The company split up to go their various ways without protest. Erestor stood with Belegon at the cave's entrance while Glorfindel and Rasaras gathered the horses, and he took the moment to question the captain.

"Belegon, are you certain that this is wise?" he asked. "There is something about this cave that I do not like."

"No one likes caves, and our people least of all," agreed Belegon. "Yet we have no choice."

Erestor shook his head. "No, that is not what I mean. There is something disturbing about _this_ cave, even more so than any other cave I have ever had to enter. I do not think this wise."

"Do not worry," said Belegon as Glorfindel and Rasaras approached with the frightened horses. "We will be fine."

Erestor was about to reply, when he was suddenly interrupted by the reappearance of Malchathol behind him. The warrior looked at Belegon gravely. "Captain," he said, "we are not alone."

* * *

_**Coming Soon**: Chapter Five: The Dam Breaks _


	5. The Dam Breaks

_**Chapter Five: The Dam Breaks**_

Glorfindel glanced around himself at the faces that were lit by the fire. Belegon sat up straight as a proud king, with Arandur and Malchathol on either side of him looking as uncomfortable and slightly suspicious as was to be expected. Rasaras sat between Arandur and Glorfindel, squirming and looking on anxiously. Erestor sat beside Malchathol, and if Glorfindel had not known better, he would have called the expression on the advisor's face one of thinly veiled terror.

The tall Man that was seated before them smiled again, his angular face lit by the fire's orange glow. His clothes were slightly torn and dirty, as if he had spent a long time out in the elements. Rich brown eyes flecked with gold looked on each one of them. "You are welcome, my friends," said the Man in a rough, thickly accented voice. "I am Morazôn of Númenor, and I lead a patrol for a nearby settlement. My men and I have been using this cave as our habitation for two weeks now, but we have seen no other people. How came the Fair Folk to wander by this place?"

Belegon cleared his throat. "I am Belegon Taurvagorion, Captain of the Guard of Imladris. I was leading a small company of warriors and ambassadors to Mithlond across the Ered Luin, but we were caught in the blizzard. Our horses were unable to go any further, but I remembered this cave from my travels in these parts many years ago. I did not expect to find it inhabited."

Morazôn smiled. "You and your friends are welcome to remain with us, Captain Belegon. My lieutenant Tanakûl will be happy to find you suitable places to rest—this is a large cavern, and we have plenty of room to share with weary travelers."

Belegon dipped his head in a small, courteous gesture. "We are indeed in your debt, Master Morazôn. We will not impose upon your hospitality for more than this night, and we will make plans to depart at dawn."

The Númenórean lifted one bushy eyebrow. "Surely your horses will not be any better off then? The snow will still be just as deep."

"It will be easier to guide their steps in the daylight, without the wind and snow blowing in our faces. Besides, we are due in Mithlond for a delegation with Lord Círdan and his folk, and it would not do to keep him waiting long. We are grateful for your hospitality and do not wish to burden you."

Morazôn grinned, revealing a row of slightly yellowed teeth. "The Fair Folk are no burden at all, Captain. It is an honor to count you among us."

Out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Erestor reach behind Malchathol and tap Belegon's shoulder. "He is not to be trusted," mouthed the advisor in soundless Quenya. Belegon had a sketchy knowledge of the ancient speech, but Glorfindel guessed that Morazôn had no knowledge of it at all. He was a bit offended for the Man's sake—after all, here he was sheltering them in their need and not accepting any kind of reimbursement, and Erestor had to whisper about him in a speech he could not understand. It was hardly fair. Morazôn glanced at Erestor, and the Man's face darkened with suspicion. Something flashed in the ember-like brown eyes for a moment, but it was quickly replaced.

Belegon looked back up at Morazôn as if nothing had happened. "May the favor of our people rest upon you, Master Morazôn. Where do you wish us to settle?"

Morazôn fired a rapid stream of Adûnaic at a group of Men, and one of them stepped forward. He was a lean, wiry fellow with a sharp-featured face and shifty eyes. "This is my lieutenant Tanakûl," said Morazôn. "He will show you the place we have prepared. Your horses are comfortably kept within the inner reaches of the cavern."

Belegon nodded. "Many thanks. I will have one of my warriors stand guard over the entrance, to relieve your men of the task." He nudged Malchathol, and the swordsman stood to his full height. His head came within a foot of the ceiling, and with his cape thrown back and his sword at his belt, he looked like a formidable watchman indeed.

Morazôn glanced up at Malchathol—he had to nearly strain his neck to do so—and there was a hint of apprehension in his eyes. "Of course," he said nervously. "All enemies quail before the blades of the Firstborn. We fear no evil with your warriors near."

Belegon stood, and all the others followed suit. The captain reached over and shook Morazôn's hand. "May the Valar bless you for your kindness."

Morazôn grinned again. "Indeed."

* * *

Erestor sat by the fire in their makeshift quarters and waited until the chamber was almost empty. A few of the Númenórean scouts still milled about, gazing at the Elves with their strange brown eyes. Erestor had never seen such eyes—not that the color was unusual, it was just a strange look. It was not hatred, or admiration, or curiosity; it was more like an interesting mix of the three, as well as something else he could not decipher. Whatever it was, it was disturbing. He did not like the Men one bit.

He caught at the corner of Belegon's cloak just as the captain was about to walk away. "If you do not mind, Belegon, I would like to speak to you a moment," he whispered.

Belegon smiled. "As you wish. Would it be more tactful to stand farther away from the general mass of listening ears?"

"Probably," he said, unable to suppress a tiny smile of his own. They moved closer to the back of the cave, a good few feet away from everyone else.

"Now," said Belegon as soon as they were sure they would not be overheard, "what is bothering you?"

"These Men. There is something very wrong here, Belegon, I am sure of it. I did not feel right the moment I set eyes on this cave, and its inhabitants have done nothing to put me at ease. They speak like friends, but they look at us with fear."

The captain shrugged. "That is not unusual for Men. No matter how much we try to reassure them, there is always a bit of fear in their hearts for us. It is as if we are wholly alien to them as a race. There is no reason for that to make you uneasy."

"You saw the way Morazôn reacted when Malchathol stood up. He immediately looked afraid and defensive. Even when we speak of Men, I cannot understand that reaction to an ally volunteering defense. Why would he be afraid of Malchathol unless he thought he had something to fear? Unless he did not count Malchathol as an ally at all?"

Belegon looked thoughtful. "You make an interesting point, and one indeed worth consideration. Yet you must also take into account the fact that we were introduced to Morazôn less than an hour ago, and he has only our word to depend on. I would think him a poor leader and defender of his people if he was _not_ hesitant to trust us."

"That is true, and if it was only that reaction that alerted me, I would concede the point. But it is not only that. I understood what Morazôn said to Tanakûl when you asked about where we would stay—one of the things he said was 'Put them in the back.' Our horses are also here in the inner reaches of the cavern. Why is it important for Morazôn to keep us as far as possible from the entrance to the cave? Because he does not want us to leave unless he wishes it, perhaps?"

Belegon shook his head. "You are looking at all of this with a mistrustful mind, Erestor. You are extremely uncomfortable here and you wish to be gone. I completely understand, and I assure you that I do not blame you for feeling that way. We are only staying here for the night, and in the morning we will leave and continue on toward Mithlond. When we reach Mithlond, we will alert Lord Círdan of this outpost and allow him to take such action as he feels is necessary. I can do nothing now—I have given my word that we will stay here for the night, and if they are truly hesitant to trust us as you say, then my going back on that decision will only make matters worse. We can go no farther tonight; we have no choice but to stay here until dawn."

Erestor bit his lip. "I understand. I do not feel any better about these Men, though. They do not mean us well."

"What would you have me do? They have shown us hospitality in our need, and you saw how Morazôn refused any kind of recompense for his generosity. We cannot leave, and it would only hurt our position here if we acted suspicious and doubtful. It is only for one night. You do not even have to sleep if you do not want to. I set Malchathol as the watchman, so at least one of us is on guard and alert. We are not defenseless."

He sighed. "I know. I still have a foreboding feeling, though. I do not trust Morazôn or any of the others, and the sooner we are away, the better off I will be."

Suddenly Erestor heard a snort of disgust from behind him. He whirled around and saw Glorfindel looking down at him. "You don't trust _anyone_, do you, Erestor?" the warrior said, his voice harsh with repugnance.

Erestor drew himself up to his full height—which did no good since he only came up to Glorfindel's nose anyway—and frowned. "I trust Lord Elrond and Captain Belegon. I have met few others that merit my complete trust."

"Oh, well, _pardon_ me," spat Glorfindel. "I suppose I will just leave you to yourself and speak with the other _untrustworthy_ members of our company. It's a wonder you agreed to come, if you think the rest of us are going to murder you in your sleep!"

"I did not say that. I highly respect the others, and the more I get to know them, the more I trust them. I do not fear for my life around them a single bit. _You_, on the other hand, are only more repulsive every time you open your big mouth! I do not trust you any farther than I could throw you!"

"Well, Little Master, I hope you are satisfied to know that no one else trusts you, either! Why do you think Elrond sent me? Because Belegon needed another assistant? If you would just keep quiet and stop being so doubtful and cynical about everything and everyone, we would be _much_ better off! You have already managed to nearly cripple yourself and your horse!"

"The reason I fell through was that the ice was too thin! It is a marvel that you did not fall through and break your foolish neck when you went skipping across the ice without waiting for Belegon's word!"

"Not only that, you've also highly offended Master Morazôn by whispering about him behind Malchathol's back only seconds after he offered to shelter your ungrateful self for the night! It's no wonder they all hate you! I only hope they don't hate the rest of us, too, because of your impertinence!"

"That's _enough!_" said Belegon suddenly, shoving Glorfindel and Erestor apart. His green eyes flashed. "I am _astounded_ at the manner in which you both carry yourselves! Do you mean to make a mockery of our people to these Men?"

"No," growled Erestor. Glorfindel only glared at him.

Belegon ignored the glares. "Since the very beginning of this journey, you two have done nothing but antagonize one another, and I want it stopped here and now! There is no reason in Middle-earth why the two of you cannot even be civil to one another. You are bickering like ill-mannered children, and you should be ashamed of yourselves!"

No one said anything. Erestor looked down at the ground to avoid meeting Belegon's eyes. He _was_ beginning to feel ashamed of himself. It was not like him to just lose his temper and say all sorts of horrible and hateful things to someone else.

Belegon sighed deeply and shook his head. "Glorfindel, I want you to go and help Arandur see to the horses. No—"he held up a silencing hand as Glorfindel started to protest—"not a word. I will speak with you later. Go now."

Glorfindel turned and left, tossing Erestor a smoldering glare over his shoulder. His gray-blue eyes were hard and venomous. Erestor lifted his chin and did his best to look just as formidable, but it was an empty gesture. He felt as if Belegon had dumped cold water on his anger and it had all dissolved into nothing.

Belegon grasped Erestor's shoulder and steered him toward a rocky outcropping in the cave wall that was about the same size as a bench. "We need to talk."

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

**MarySuesREvil**: Wow, thank you so much! Yes, I agree, there is a measure of 'fanon' in the stories, both this one and "Snowballs." More so Erestor than Glorfindel, because IIRC Erestor had about three lines in the books and none in the movies. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!

**Noldo**: First of all, thank you for reviewing! Your kind words are _greatly_ appreciated. As for your two questions: Alphien's age is given in what I would consider Elven years, not human ones. Twelve is a good round number between one and maturity, and since the Elves "reckon as far as possible in sixes and twelves," then turning twelve might be a landmark for them the same way that turning ten is a landmark for us. They would probably not have a birthday party every year (after you turned fifty they would all start to run together), but twelve might be a good excuse to have one. At least that's my idea. As for Imladris and the pronouns: that's one part vague/careless pronoun references, and another part just me being vague. I was using "Imladris" to refer to the house (Would they have referred to it as the Last Homely House while Lindon and Gil-galad remained? I figured that that was more of a Third Age name, but I could be wrong.) and "the valley" to refer to the valley. Rasaras lives near the main complex of buildings, but in a village that is far enough away that he can come to the top of a hill and be able to look over the famous cluster of buildings we know as Rivendell. As for the pronouns, I meant it to be more of a coming-of-age moment: his home and family are behind him, and the much bigger world of heavy responsibility in the Guard is before him. The fact that he is standing on a hill and gazing out over Elrond's house as he comes to this realization is more for metaphorical purposes than anything else. Sorry if it was confusing. :( Rasaras is not in fact a Noldo, and I figured that there would be more than just Noldor. It started with the Elven refugees of Eregion, but I thought that perhaps some Sindar or Silvan that sought Elrond's wisdom or protection could have come as well. Hope that answers your questions! On a side note, thank you for your encouragement about my original characters! I agree that they should be more than just "sidekicks." It's hard to do them right. Thank you for your kind words, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

**Lady of the Twilight Woods**: ::grins:: Thank you! The scene with the snowbank was fun to write. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

**seeing-spots**: I'm glad I was finally able to introduce Rasaras to everyone. He will be important later on in the story. I don't _think_ that Glorfindel and Erestor will resort to violence... I hope not! Those nicknames were a spur-of-the-moment idea—I hadn't intended to add them, but they sort of "came out" when I wrote the draft. I laughed out loud when I wrote them. :) Thank you for your words!

**Erestor**: Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it... Rasaras came out all right after all, I guess. I hope I explained the "before" line (a bit too vague, I have to agree), though it was hardly a mistake on your part! I'm almost tempted to drag out Glorfindel and Erestor's enmity for as long as I can... it's so much fun to write. :D

**Silabrithil**: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I hope you like the rest of it as well!

**Coolio02**: Not orcs. :) This is where the story turns a corner, I've realized, and I hope you like the rest of it as much as you like the beginning. Thank you and enjoy!

**Elwen**: Nope, not offended. It takes more than honest criticism to offend me. ; ) Rasaras is fun to write because (as you may see later on) he often does not think before he speaks. But I'm giving stuff away. Erestor will definitely be called to answer for his words! And, sorry, the twins are not born yet... this all takes place at about 1800 SA, so it will be a while yet before they grace Imladris with their presence. I know Elves don't like cats, but that doesn't mean that they aren't reminiscent of felines at times. :) Glad you enjoyed the chapters, and thank you for your kind words!

**ann**: Thank you so much! Realism is hard to do, though I'm honored that you think I succeeded. I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic!

**sugar is your friend**: I'm glad you enjoyed "Snowballs"! Thank you so much for your review!

_**Coming Soon**: Chapter Six: Lost in the Flood_


	6. Lost in the Flood

_**Chapter Six: Lost in the Flood  
**_

_A/N: Warning! This chapter is the reason for the rating. If violence bothers you, be careful._

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* * *

_

Glorfindel stood next to the white horse, stroking its sides and back with the brush. He turned to the Elf standing next to him. "What is this horse's name, Arandur?"

Arandur glanced at the horse, then smiled and gave its nose an affectionate stroke. "This is Súlfëa, Master Erestor's horse. She is remarkably calm right now—you must have a good effect on her. Most of the time she is so nervous and high-strung that the slightest disturbance will terrify her."

Glorfindel snorted. "A lot like her rider, then."

The Noldorin archer was silent for a few moments. "No, not like Master Erestor," he said at last. "He is wise and cautious, not jumpy like Súlfëa. If he reacts to a situation, he has good reason to do so. I do not know him very well—no one does but Captain Belegon, and even _he_ does not fully understand him—but I know him enough to know that he is worth listening to. It would be unwise to disregard him."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? I was unaware that anyone liked him. To be honest, I cannot see why."

Arandur shook his head. "You have not given him a chance, then. He is one of the most respected people in Imladris, and not without reason. Though admittedly he is weak in social skills, even Lord Elrond himself would hand him the authority of Imladris without hesitation. I would trust him to solve any problem of mine. Perhaps I do not know him as well as I know others, but that does not mean that I do not think highly of him. If you demean him, you have obviously not given him a chance to prove himself to you."

"He has had plenty of chances," huffed Glorfindel. Noldor were fiercely defensive of one another, he thought, and Arandur was probably just defending his kinsman. "The only thing that he has proven to me is that he is one of the rudest, most ill-mannered Elves I have ever known."

The Noldo cocked his head to one side. "He is certainly opinionated, but that is a quality necessary for his position. He only gives his opinion when he is asked for it, and he always has sound reasons."

"I would like to know what his 'sound reason' is for being so cantankerous. He seems perpetually annoyed and irritated."

"Have you ever thought, Glorfindel, that perhaps to him you are perpetually annoying and irritating?"

Glorfindel was taken aback by the blunt observation. "I am doing nothing to antagonize him!" he protested.

"Does _he_ see it that way? You can only see a situation from your own perspective, certainly, but have you ever wondered the effect that _your_ manner has on _him_? You seem quite ready to be charming and accommodating to the rest of us, but why are you so prejudiced against him?"

Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply, then slowly closed it. He brushed Súlfëa's coat, gently stroking the smooth side with the brush. Suddenly he hit a sore spot, and the mare whinnied and pranced, shying away from Glorfindel and Arandur. Glorfindel reached out to her and laid a calming hand on her nose, then began to speak soft words of Quenya to calm her down. She slowly began to relax, and after a few moments Glorfindel was able to resume brushing.

Arandur tapped his shoulder. "Glorfindel, what just happened?" he asked.

He gave the Noldo a confused look. "I accidentally hit a sore spot on her back, and she was startled. So I calmed her down and then went back to brushing her." He tilted his head to one side. "Why do you ask?"

"Why are you willing to be so patient and gentle with this horse, when you refuse to even be civil to Master Erestor? Everyone is willing to accommodate Súlfëa, but almost everyone reacts the same way to Master Erestor that you do."

Glorfindel shook his head. "The metaphor is hardly appropriate, Arandur. Súlfëa is a horse. She is not being vindictive or antagonistic when she reacts."

"And neither is Master Erestor," said Arandur. He gave Súlfëa one last pat and walked away.

* * *

Erestor sat down where Belegon had indicated. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his aching head. Neither one of them spoke for a few long, uncomfortable moments. 

"Well," said Belegon finally, "have you anything to say?"

"No," murmured Erestor into his hand.

"Good. Because I have a _lot_ to say." The captain reached up and moved Erestor's hand away from his face. "Look at me, Erestor."

Erestor looked up obediently, and to his surprise there was no anger in Belegon's emerald-green eyes. They were full of disappointment. To Erestor, that was worse than the anger would have been.

"Do you remember what I told you about dogs and wolves?" the captain said. "I told you that some personalities cannot coexist peacefully without effort. Perhaps, I said, you and Glorfindel simply cannot get along without effort. You have not been making very much effort, have you?"

Erestor shook his head miserably. "When he speaks to me, I get so angry that I lose my temper, and it is as if any effort on my part is meaningless."

"No effort in such a situation as this is meaningless. Glorfindel cannot argue with you if you do not ever answer him, can he? I think that if you will make even the smallest bit of effort, you will be amazed at the results. What you have done so far has certainly not been any good—I almost could not believe that it was you that was saying those things."

Erestor burned with shame. "I did not mean what I said. Glorfindel annoys me greatly, and I have trouble with my temper when I am around him, but I do not _hate_ him."

"I know you do not, but this bickering needs to stop—how do you think we are going to appear to these Men now? At least both of you had the decency not to speak in a language they know! If there really is a possibility for trouble, then we Elves need to be in perfect unity. We cannot be in unity if you and Glorfindel refuse to cooperate with one another. If we are divided, then anything can rise and destroy us. I say all this on behalf of everyone involved."

"I know," said Erestor, guilt swallowing him. "I am sorry if I have endangered the group. It was the last thing I would have ever wanted to do." He sighed. "I wish I had never come. I have done nothing but cause trouble for everyone."

"Do not say that, Erestor," said Belegon, shedding his 'captain' demeanor like an unwanted cloak. "I, for one, am glad that you are here. True, you have made mistakes, but we all make mistakes, and they are no gauge of a person's worth. If nothing else, you will be absolutely instrumental once we reach Mithlond—no one else knows how to work out treaties and the like."

"I suppose so," he admitted. "This was not at all what I had expected."

"Life is rarely what we expect, but in the end it is better that way. Do not call the journey a waste before you see the end of the path." Belegon stood and gave Erestor's shoulder a small squeeze. "Take heart, my friend. Do what you can, and leave the rest in the keeping of Ilúvatar. He will see to it that everything works out for the best."

Suddenly a loud call echoed through the cavern. It sounded like a shrill horn giving a loud blast of warning, and Erestor had to stop up his ears for fear of damage to his hearing. "What in Arda _was_ that?" he said to Belegon as soon as the echo had faded to a more tolerable volume.

But Belegon was already running out of the chamber toward the opening of the cave. "Malchathol!" he called over his shoulder to Erestor in explanation. "Something must have gone wrong; he is sending an alarm!"

Erestor felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. A sickening feeling spread through him as he raced behind Belegon. He knew it just as surely as he knew his own name—something had gone very, very wrong.

* * *

Glorfindel and Arandur started running the moment they heard Malchathol's horn. They met Rasaras in the hallway, and the three of them raced toward the entrance. The noise echoed all around Glorfindel's head, filling his ears and mind with the desperate-sounding call. 

He had almost reached the chamber Malchathol was in, when suddenly he felt a heavy weight slam into him from the side. He jerked his head away just in time to avoid a dagger in his neck.

He heard a sharp cry from Rasaras, and glanced up just in time to see the young warrior snatch the attacker off Glorfindel and bury a dagger in the Man's chest. The Man gave a wheezy gasp and then fell. Rasaras stood completely still, looking down at the dead attacker. His face had gone several shades paler.

Glorfindel grabbed Rasaras's shoulders and jerked him onwards toward the chamber. "Many thanks, lad, well done. Come on."

Rasaras followed dumbly, as if he heard neither the gratitude nor the praise. He stumbled on down the hallway, occasionally glancing down at his stained hands. His face was pallid and almost greenish.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth and continued to drag Rasaras forward. He was not surprised that the boy should react so, especially if he had never been in a real battle before. There would be time later for dealing with warrior's guilt, though—the midst of a battle was no place for compassion and weakness. If one of their company was in danger, all else had to be swept aside.

However, the sight that greeted Glorfindel when he reached the entrance almost made his own stomach turn. Arandur stood alone against at least thirty Men, a short knife in his hand. His back was to Malchathol, who lay slumped on the floor. The fallen swordsman still gripped the horn, dark auburn hair splayed all around his pallid face. A few fallen Men lay around the chamber.

He glanced at Rasaras, fully expecting to have to drag the boy to his feet or watch him finally pass out on the floor. But he was wrong—at the sight of his fellows in danger, something snapped in the young archer. He flew at the Men like a wildcat, the short blade held high.

Glorfindel rushed forward behind Rasaras, unsheathing his own sword. He did his best to cover the rabid young warrior, but after a minute or so he was forced to admit he did not need to. Rasaras might be young and inexperienced, but he was well-trained.

Suddenly two more people rushed into the chamber. Glorfindel saw Belegon's face drain of all color at the sight of the fallen Malchathol, but the captain reacted the same way Rasaras had. The Men fell before Belegon's blade like wilted leaves. Glorfindel almost smiled—they were one unit, fighting against a threat. Everything else fell away as they fought to protect one another.

Then Glorfindel saw Erestor. The advisor stared at the battle, frozen, with an expression on his face of utter terror. Glorfindel realized that Erestor did not even have a weapon; the thin-framed Elf would not even be able to defend himself, let alone anyone else. He looked terrified and lost.

Glorfindel clenched his jaw. He reached down to one of the fallen Men and snatched up the Man's blade, then tossed it in Erestor's direction. "Make for the entrance!" he shouted. No doubt the frail advisor would be more of a liability than an asset in combat, and besides, he had the information for Círdan tucked under his outer robe. He was more useful if he stayed out of the way.

Erestor gingerly picked up the sword and started to move in the direction Glorfindel had commanded, staying flat against the cave wall and trying his best not to stand out to the Númenóreans.

Glorfindel looked back to the battle. The Elves were fighting bravely, but they were severely outnumbered and they had been taken by surprise. The Men were slowly gaining the upper hand. He recognized wiry Tanakûl and big-boned Morazôn in the fray, slashing fruitlessly at the quick Elven warriors, expressions on their faces of bloodthirsty glee. They looked like children at a begetting-day party.

He heard a choked cry in front of him, and he leapt forward just in time to catch Arandur as the Noldorin warrior staggered backwards. The fair face was pale and bruised, the gloved hand barely holding onto the bloodstained dagger. Misty gray eyes stared out into nothing as the Elf shuddered and then went limp in Glorfindel's arms. Stunned, Glorfindel gently lowered the warrior to the ground, mumbling a quick prayer to Mandos that he would show the brave Noldo mercy in his halls.

A gravelly chuckle sounded above him. He looked up just in time to see Tanakûl's sallow face leering down at him. The Númenórean grinned and lifted his rusty blade for another killing blow.

Glorfindel gritted his teeth. There was no way he would have the chance to raise his sword in time to defend himself. It seemed strange that Mandos would send him back to Middle-earth only to die in a meaningless battle far away from any civilization, but then, the ways of the Valar were strange.

He did not close his eyes, but he allowed his gaze to drop to the fallen warrior that he still held numbly. _I suppose we will meet again soon, my friend_, he thought grimly. _I am ready, Mandos. Take me one last time._ He steeled himself for the killing blow.

The blow never came.

* * *

Erestor watched helplessly as Tanakûl lifted his sword. He wanted to rush forward, but he seemed frozen in place. Glorfindel did not look afraid as he faced the Man—he looked proud and defiant and sad. The expression on his face was the same one that Erestor had once seen captured in a painting of Glorfindel's battle with the Balrog. He had admired the art, but had wondered if it was possible for a being about to die to wear such an expression. But here Glorfindel was, about to die once again, and he practically radiated indomitable courage. Erestor wanted to look away—tried to look away—but his eyes were as rooted to Glorfindel's face as his feet were rooted to the floor. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sudden flash of bright blue. Belegon rushed forward just as Tanakûl started to bring down his sword and met the blade with his own. The Númenórean did not even have time to blink before he fell screeching to the ground. Belegon reached over and pulled Glorfindel to his feet.

Erestor sighed with relief, but it was short-lived. A small, fleet-footed Númenórean scout leaped at Belegon, and the captain was taken by surprise. Glorfindel was quickly occupied with an attacker as well.

A bellow of rage echoed in the cavern. Morazôn had seen Tanakûl fall to Belegon's sword. The Man lumbered toward Belegon faster than Erestor had believed possible. The sharp-featured face was livid, and the brown eyes blazed with hatred. Belegon was so intent on trying to defend himself against the Númenórean scout that he appeared unaware that Morazôn was behind him.

Erestor heard his voice scream Belegon's name, and felt himself rushing forward to his friend's side. Belegon looked up at him, surprise in his vivid green eyes. Morazôn reached Belegon before Erestor did, and Erestor looked on in horror as the burly Númenórean grabbed a fistful of chestnut hair and jerked Belegon's head backwards.

Suddenly Erestor felt pain rip through his left shoulder. The Númenórean scout was mortally wounded, but with his last gasping breaths he slashed at Erestor and shoved him hard against the wall. Erestor could almost hear the dull _thud_ of his head hitting the solid rock, but he never felt himself collapse onto the ground.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Licorice Twist**: _The Endless Sun_ made you cry? Wow. Thank you!

**EmyLyii**: Thank you for your review! I believe that because Erestor and Glorfindel are complete opposites, then at the beginning, things might have been a bit… prickly. It has been interesting to write them as enemies.

**Erestor**: Yes, this is where the story turns a corner. Glorfindel is out of patience, which is never good for the one he's dealing with! Fortunately for Erestor, Glorfindel isn't after him now. And thank you for your review of _The Endless Sun_! That one was a shot in the dark, so I'm glad that you liked it. Angst is a good thing. :)

**seeing-spots**: Nope, they never are, but doesn't it seem like we always learn that the hard way? I'm glad it's realistic… I have lots of first-hand experience with arguing, since I have two younger sisters. embarrassed grin Write what you know, right? And I'm glad you liked _The Endless Sun_. That one turned out to be a lot more popular than I thought it would be. Thank you!

**Gremlin-The-LOTR-Angel**: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed _The Endless Sun_! I had no idea that people would react like they did to what I thought was a simple little angst story.

**Diolch**: Thank you! My sister feels very gratified now. I think she's going to give me even more "advice" in the future. I'm glad you enjoyed it, even though it was depressing!

**ann**: Your reviews are always so encouraging; thank you! Yes, Belegon is an original character, as are most of the others. The argument was fun to write, so I'm glad you enjoyed it. :) And thank you for your review of _Snowballs_! That fic was completely unplanned, and to this day I have no idea where I got the inspiration for it.

**Evenstar Elanor**: Wow. What an incredible review! Thank you so much for your comments!

**Avalon Estel**: Thank you for your reviews! A master at writing anything? blushes I'm still learning, but what a compliment! I'm glad to find another fan of Glorfindel and Erestor… they have far too few fans, in my opinion! And as for being angry… not in the least. I was too excited about reading a new chapter to be angry! I rarely read PG-13 stories myself, and _only_ if it's for violence. Anything else is sickening. I always rate mine as high as I think would be okay… I don't want someone to be shocked. I would rather err on the side of caution. Thank you so much for your reviews!

**Noldo**: bows I'm so glad that you enjoy this story! Actually, I've never heard of 'The Naked Sun.' I don't write a lot of Legolas or Aragorn stories (Glor and Ress are just so much fun!), but this one came out of nowhere. Thank you so much!

_ Coming Soon: Chapter Seven: Red Dawn_


	7. Red Dawn

_**Chapter Seven: Red Dawn**_

****

Glorfindel felt tired and numb. He stood alone in the yawning cavern. Bodies of the slain littered the ground around him, limbs in a tangled mass. Gray, pallid faces were frozen in expressions of fear, shock, and pain.

He stepped over the fallen Men and walked to the Elven warriors. Arandur, Malchathol, and Belegon lay on the ground like mortals, their spirits in Námo's care. Glorfindel took a shuddering breath and touched each forehead in a last gesture of respect.

He heard the sound of a low groan from a corner of the cavern. He rushed to the spot, wondering if perhaps one last enemy remained. A glimmer of pale blond hair caught his eye.

"Rasaras!" he breathed. He heaved the body of one of the Men off of the young warrior and then bent down to examine him more carefully. "Rasaras Eltatharion, can you hear me?" he whispered, checking the slender wrist for a pulse. He was almost afraid to raise his voice—there was something extremely lonely about the echo that normal speech would produce.

Rasaras's eyelids fluttered and finally opened. Gray-blue eyes slowly came into focus. "Lord Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Thank the Valar you are alive. Are you hurt?"

The young warrior swallowed. "My arm is broken, but I do not know about anything else."

Sure enough, Rasaras's left arm lay at an unnatural angle against his chest. Glorfindel nodded. "That should be relatively easy to treat. I will find something to splint it with, and then we can bandage it up and you will heal perfectly."

"Are you injured?"

"No," said Glorfindel bitterly. He felt almost guilty to be completely unscathed when so many were dead, his own kin included.

Rasaras craned his neck to see past Glorfindel into the rest of the cavern. "What about the others?"

Glorfindel shook his head sadly and shifted so that Rasaras's view of the slaughter was blocked. "They are gone."

The gray-blue eyes blinked. Rasaras did not scream, or cry, or even move. He just lay on the floor as if the news was so staggering that he simply could not understand it.

Glorfindel ached with pity. The archer was only a few years past his majority—far too young, in Glorfindel's opinion, to be a witness and victim to the horror of battle. None of them had expected anything like this, except perhaps Erestor.

"Erestor!" he said, his head snapping up. The last he had seen of the advisor, Erestor had rushed forward to aid Belegon. Glorfindel had no idea what had become of him after Morazôn had killed Belegon, only to fall a few minutes later at Glorfindel's feet. He had seen no trace of him since then, and had mentally added him to the list of the fallen. Could it be that perhaps a third member of their company still lived?

He helped Rasaras up to a sitting position. "Close your eyes and take deep breaths. Do not move until I return. I am going to go look for Erestor."

Without waiting for Rasaras to reply, he stood and began looking around the cave. The only light came from a few torches still burning on the wall. He could not see the advisor anywhere.

He walked across the cavern to the place he had last seen Erestor. This particular area was thick with bodies, making it almost impossible to find any specific person. The torchlight flickered on the still blades.

Suddenly he saw a figure draped with dark fabric, collapsed in a still heap on the ground against the wall. He immediately rushed to it.

"Oh, please be alive," he begged under his breath as he brushed aside a sticky mass of dark, bloodstained hair. There had been enough death today. He had just lost three people that he had deemed friends, and that was bad enough, but this was different. Arandur's words had wedged themselves in his mind like thorns, and though he still questioned how true they were, if Erestor was dead then he would never know. He hated the thought of having him die with such a large issue unresolved, and he knew with sickening certainty that he would feel very guilty if the silent Elf before him had died with such hate-filled words echoing in his ears.

The advisor's face was deathly pale, his eyes closed. Panicked, Glorfindel reached for the slender wrist and felt for what seemed like hours until he could detect a faint, fluttering pulse beneath the pallid skin. Erestor was alive.

He let out the breath he had been holding. All was not lost. The Valar were merciful.

Rasaras's thin voice echoed in the cavern. "Glorfindel?"

He turned. "Yes?"

"You found Master Erestor?"

Glorfindel allowed himself a smile. "Yes, and he is wounded, but he is alive."

Rasaras stood and began to walk over. His face was bloodlessly pale, and his steps were uncertain, but he managed to pick his way through the carnage. "Will he be all right?" he asked as soon as he had reached Glorfindel.

Glorfindel grimaced and looked back at the unconscious advisor. "I hope so. I will need to take a look at him to see if his injuries are serious, but at least we know that he is still alive. If you want to help, go to where they stowed our packs and bring me Arandur's bag. He was the one who brought the healing supplies, I think."

Rasaras nodded and went off to do Glorfindel's bidding.

Glorfindel looked back down at Erestor. He was no healer, but he would do his best. The very worst thing that could happen was that Erestor would die, and if Glorfindel did nothing, then Erestor would die anyway. He had to at least try.

He reached up to the wall and picked up one of the torches, then wedged it between two nearby boulders to give him a little more light. The only signs of injury that he could see were the fact that Erestor was unconscious, the bleeding wound on the back of his head, and the way that his left ankle was twisted far more than a sound joint would allow. However, as Erestor was lying on his stomach with his head to one side, it was hard to tell if there were any other injuries. Glorfindel picked him up as gently and carefully as he could and turned him over.

He sucked in his breath when he saw the long, deep slash across Erestor's left shoulder. Had the wound been only a few inches lower, then the advisor would undoubtedly be dead by now. As it was, the wound was bleeding profusely, and Glorfindel could tell without even seeing it clearly that it would need stitches to heal.

He moved Erestor's cloak out of the way, and then picked up a dagger that was lying nearby and began to cut the shoulder-seam of the dark, bloodstained tunic. The sooner he got those stitches in, the better. He would probably need Rasaras's help, but he was far from eager to put the young Elf through that.

Light footsteps echoed in the cavern. "I brought what you needed, Lord Glorfindel," said Rasaras, approaching with the bag.

"Many thanks." Glorfindel took the pack and began to root through it, in search of the healing supplies. Soon he found a needle and thread, fresh bandages, and a few small drawstring bags of dried herbs. "I do not know everything about the effects of each of these herbs," commented Glorfindel, "but between the two of us, we will figure it out."

Rasaras looked doubtful, but he dutifully nodded. "What will you do?"

"I cannot do everything that needs to be done, but there are a few things we can accomplish. We need to set the broken ankle, stitch up this cut, and make sure that that cut on his head does not get infected. I will need your help."

The look on Rasaras's face was an interesting mix of disbelief, horror, and fright. "I—I am no healer," he stuttered.

"Neither am I, but surely you know something. With any luck, he will back on his feet in no time, and we can go on back home once the snow stops."

"We are not going on to Mithlond?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Erestor would never survive the trip. It would be hard to find our way in this snowstorm, and he needs Elrond's care. Círdan or no Círdan, we are not going to Mithlond."

Rasaras nodded then glanced back down at Erestor. His eyes lit up. "He's waking up!"

* * *

The first sensation Erestor felt was pain. Hammering, agonizing pain racked his whole body, but it was concentrated at his head and shoulder and ankle. The pain was so intense that it nearly took his breath away. At least he knew he was not dead—surely he would not feel pain if he had died.

A voice filtered into his consciousness. "Erestor? Can you hear me?"

Erestor could not identify the voice, so he had to guess. "Belegon?"

He heard a slight sigh. "No. It's me, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel. Of all people, it had to be Glorfindel. "Where is Belegon?" he asked.

Glorfindel's voice fell ominously silent for a few seconds. "He—he is not here right now," he finally answered. "How do you feel?"

A brief flash of frustration entered Erestor's mind. Where was Belegon? Why was Glorfindel the one standing over top of him? He was almost ready to snap at the annoying Vanya, but he quickly decided not to. He hurt too much to argue, and being annoyed took too much energy. "Terrible."

Glorfindel chuckled wryly. "I am not surprised. You have a gash on the back of your head, your shoulder is cut wide open, and you've nearly twisted your left foot off. Can you open your eyes?"

His first instinct was to protest—his head was pounding as if someone was beating it with a battle-ax, and he was not eager to see Glorfindel. And on top of all that, he was beginning to remember what had happened to him before he had been hurt—Morazôn had been about to attack Belegon. A cold feeling of dread and sudden loneliness swallowed him up. Could Belegon be—was it possible that Belegon was—no, he could not even consider it! Surely it was impossible…

He opened his eyes and gave them time to adjust themselves to the light. Glorfindel was indeed bending over him, but to his surprise there was not even a hint of anything but compassion in the Vanya's silver-blue eyes. _I suppose war does strange things to warriors_, he thought. His annoyance began to fade away. For all he knew, Glorfindel might have saved his life. "Are you and the others all right?" he ventured.

The warrior seemed taken aback by the question. "I am well, and Rasaras is not seriously injured."

The dread deepened. "But Belegon? And Malchathol and Arandur?"

Glorfindel broke eye contact. "It—it appears that it is just the three of us now," he said in a strange voice. It sounded as if he was trying to be somewhat lighthearted, but was failing miserably.

Erestor felt as if Glorfindel had punched him in the stomach. He could not breathe. Not all three of them! It could not be… it could not! He closed his eyes to try to chase the thoughts away, but all his mind's eye could see was the shock on Belegon's face as Morazôn grabbed him from behind, the sight of Malchathol still and silent like a crumbled statue, and Arandur's sword slipping from his hand as he fell backward onto the ground.

"Erestor," said Glorfindel suddenly. Erestor jerked his eyes open and stared up at the Vanyarin warrior. "Now is not the time to grieve," Glorfindel said firmly, but with surprising gentleness. "That will come later. For now, we need to concentrate on getting back home."

Erestor only half-listened. He just felt numb. "Whatever you say."

Glorfindel glanced over at Rasaras and then back to Erestor. "We need to go ahead and put in those stitches," he said.

Erestor shook his head. "Do whatever you please. I do not care."

Glorfindel sighed and reached for the bags of herbs. "I hope you at least care about staying alive. We need you to fight this, or none of what we do will matter."

"I do not care," repeated Erestor.

* * *

Rasaras sat at the cave's mouth and looked out. The blizzard had finally ended and the sun was rising. It was a bright red sunrise, crimson against the deep snow.

He had never felt so lost, so detached from what was happening around him. Everything had changed so drastically in the last few hours that he hardly knew what to make of it all.

Glorfindel had finally sent him away after nearly an hour. First they had done what they could for Erestor, then they had gathered all the fallen into piles. Rasaras had gagged several times, and nearly fainted, and had it not been for Glorfindel's constant reprimands then he would have collapsed in the middle of it. Obeying the commands that Glorfindel gave him had been almost reassuring—it was something familiar, something he knew how to deal with, something to throw himself into before he went mad.

He could smell the acrid odor of burning outside. Glorfindel had made the decision to burn the bodies; it was their only choice. They could not bury them; even if the ground had not been buried under nearly a foot of snow, it was still frozen too hard to dig graves. They did not have time to build cairns. Ashes were the most respectful and most efficient way to deal with the problem. Glorfindel had burned each of the Elves separately first, with honor and reverence, but now he was just getting rid of the dead Men.

Upon venturing farther into the back of the cave a half-hour ago, Rasaras had discovered that the Númenóreans had attacked the horses. All of them were dead except for Súlfëa. Judging by the scene that greeted his eyes, Rasaras had concluded that Súlfëa had been so terrified that she had bucked and kicked, and killed the Man that had come to kill her. She had still been upset when Rasaras had entered, but he had managed to eventually calm her down. He had never before been thankful for the mare's paranoid and explosive temperament, but he was thankful now. Without a horse, there would have been little chance that they would reach Imladris in time to get Erestor the aid he needed.

Glorfindel's voice broke Rasaras's train of thought. "Rasaras, I need to talk with you."

He looked up as the warrior approached. "Aye?"

"I have been considering what choices we have, and I have come to a decision. Erestor is in no shape to walk home—even if his ankle was not broken, he lost so much blood while he was unconscious that he can barely sit up, therefore one of us will need to take him on Súlfëa. My decision is that you will take what supplies you need and go on ahead. Blaze the easiest trail you can make. When you reach Imladris, tell them to be ready for Erestor's and my arrival. I will come behind you with him."

Rasaras lifted an eyebrow. "You would go alone with Master Erestor? I thought you hated him," he said before he could stop himself.

Glorfindel frowned. "I don't hate him. I dislike his personality and manner. But we cannot make decisions based on petty preferences right now. You cannot bring Erestor because your arm is broken and you would be unable to help him, so the duty falls to me." His eyes hardened. "We have lost half of this company already, and I do not intend to lose another, no matter who he is."

Rasaras felt ashamed. "I apologize."

The anger departed from Glorfindel's face. "Take heart, all is forgiven. We are both going to need courage for the next few days. Come and we will find you the necessary supplies, then you can set off."

Rasaras stood. "Very well, Capt—I mean, Glorfindel." He colored with shame. Glorfindel had sounded so much like Captain Belegon that for a moment he had forgotten who he was talking to. The sound of the familiar title almost hurt—it occurred to him as if for the first time that he would never be able to address anyone as Captain Belegon again, or Malchathol, or Arandur. He knew they were _dead_, but that was just a word, and it was starting to sink in that they were _gone_.

He felt Glorfindel drape a strong arm around his shoulders. "Come on, Rasaras," said the golden warrior quietly. "Let's go."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

_**(Reviewer thanks for "Afternoon Tea" will be posted at the end of its sequel… whenever that gets posted… I'm working on it.)**_

**Avalon Estel**: Thank you so much for all of your reviews! Sorry that this chapter was so late in coming! And I really hope that you update Holiday Havoc soon…!

**seeing-spots**: And I continue to appreciate your reviews. ;) I know this took a while, but… I had excuses! Lame ones, perhaps, but they are excuses… in other words, thank you for your review and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

**emy m sumei**: winces Sorry about that, really I am… it had to happen. At least you can know that I hated having to write that just as much as you hated having to read it. I felt sorry for them all. Erestor (at least in my version) isn't really a warrior; he's a scholar. You have to take into account as well that he was completely terrified. And these are Númenóreans, meaning that they are Men at the height of their power. A force to be reckoned with, especially since they have a lot more manpower (pun not intended) and the element of surprise. As for more death… whistles and twiddles her thumbs and looks very innocent We shall see what becomes of them. Anyway, thank you for your review and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

**Elwen**: Thank you so much for your reviews! I really have nothing to say about lateness, so don't worry a bit about that. :) The argument, for me, was an attempt to crystallize the problem of their disagreements… it's not all Erestor's fault, but it's not all Glorfindel's fault either. And I had to laugh at what you said about Erestor and his horse… I've never had a horse, or been in close contact with a horse, so Súlfëa has been a bit of an experiment as far as animal realism goes. I tried to make the violence just descriptive enough that the reader has a clear view of what happens, but not so descriptive that it's just gory. I'm glad you liked it. Thank you, again, and enjoy!

**The Squire**: Wow. Thank you so much! _Snowballs_ was my first story on , and I was amazed at how well it was received. Your praise is overwhelming… thank you!

**Lutris**: It's always wonderful when one of my favorite authors reviews one of my stories… so thank you so much; I'm honored! And I _will_ respond to your e-mail soon, but life has been a bit hectic lately, so it's an ASAP but I can't make many promises. But anyway, thank you. ;)

_Coming Soon: Chapter Eight: Adrift_


	8. Adrift

_**Chapter Eight: Adrift**_

_**

* * *

**_

Glorfindel shifted his position on Súlfëa's back. He had been riding for three hours straight, and his muscles were beginning to protest. To his surprise, Súlfëa had been docile and cooperative, and there had been no 'incidents' since they had set off.

Erestor sat in front of Glorfindel, slumped up against him. Glorfindel and Rasaras had been unsure just how much of the pain-killing herbal rememdy to give him, so Glorfindel had guessed. It had rendered Erestor unconscious almost instantly and he had not awakened since. Glorfindel would have worried, had it not been for the fact that Erestor's pulse had strengthened and the gash on the back of his head had begun to heal. Now the advisor appeared to be sleeping peacefully. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was deep and regular.

So far, Rasaras's trail proved to be a success. His boots had not left much of an imprint on the snow, but it appeared that the archer had been careful to follow what he could see of the trail they had all left the evening before. Súlfëa walked with extreme care and stayed calm, even though the deep snow covered her hooves completely. Glorfindel guessed that it was due to the fact that she sensed her master was wounded and in need of care, and she had made up her mind not to let anything cause her to react and hurt him. Knowing that the mare was willing to work with him made Glorfindel feel more relaxed and confident that his plan would work.

Erestor stirred suddenly. He yawned and shifted, then looked around himself with shock and alarm. "Where am I?" he said.

Glorfindel smiled. "Do not worry. We are on our way back to Imladris. Rasaras has gone ahead to blaze a trail, and we should arrive in just a few days. How do you feel?"

The advisor blinked a few times as if to process the rush of new information. "What about Lord Círdan and Mithlond?"

"We are not going to Mithlond," said Glorfindel firmly, not wanting any argument. "You need Elrond to look at your wounds, and by the time we would have reached Mithlond we would have had to bury you somewhere along the way. None of us are in any condition to show up as ambassadors, and I think Círdan will understand."

Erestor put a hand to his face and began to rub his temples as if he had a headache. "How long was I asleep?" he asked in a defeated tone of voice.

"About four and a half hours, actually." He glanced down at the pale, sad face, an idea forming in his mind. "Did you know that you snore very loudly?"

Erestor's eyes narrowed. "I do not."

He grinned. "How do _you _know?"

The advisor blinked, as if wondering how he could prove the statement. "Hmph," he mumbled after a few seconds of fruitless pondering.

Glorfindel laughed. "I was only teasing."

"How can you laugh in a time like this?" asked Erestor incredulously, an accusatory expression on his face. "Do you not remember what happened last night?"

"Of course I do," he answered with a calmer smile. "Laughter helps one heal."

"_I_ think that it is a sign of insanity," muttered Erestor.

"Well then, I am insane but at peace. If you would rather be sober and miserable, that is your decision." He smiled. "I have decided that I am not going to let you annoy me for this whole journey. If you are angry, it is because you choose to be angry. I will not be a part of it."

Erestor scowled and grumbled something in a language Glorfindel did not know. The words were unintelligible, but the sentiment was obvious. Glorfindel did not need to have Elrond's gift of reading hearts to understand. _I agree, Erestor,_ he thought, his cheerful façade slipping away_. This is going to be a very long ride._

_

* * *

_

Elrond glanced out the window of Imladris for the fifth time in as many minutes. The sun was just rising over the snow-dusted valley, but he was worried. The sun was a bright shade of red. It was a superstition common among Elves that a red sun always arose when there had been a bloody battle the night before. He was hardly one to be superstitious, but that did not change the fact that he was nervous.

He had had the strangest dream the night before: he had dreamed that he was outside in the rain beside a large house, and when he had knocked on the door, then his twin Elros had opened it and invited him in. He had greeted Elros with shock and indescribable joy, since the older twin had long ago died, but when he tried to embrace his brother, Elros had suddenly turned around and attacked him. He had awoken in a cold sweat. Perhaps it meant nothing, but it was his experience that dreams that were as vivid as this one were ususally important.

The sound of muffled footsteps came to his ears. He turned around and saw Imladris's cook Meretheryn enter his study. She was carrying a large mug of something steaming hot.

"This is a rather cold day, milord," she said with a cheerful smile. "I thought you might like a hot cream tea to keep back the chill."

Elrond smiled in spite of his worries. It was not a well-known fact, but he often felt the winter chill more than his fellow Elves did. He suspected that it was due to his Mannish ancestry, though he was still more resistant to the cold then a mortal. It was barely noticeable to anyone else, but Meretheryn noticed everything. "Thank you," he said sincerely, taking an appreciative sip. No one could make cream tea like Meretheryn.

She smiled and glanced out the window. "I wonder if the Captain and Advisor and all of them have reached Mithlond yet," she mused.

"It is not likely," answered Elrond. "At the earliest, they should arrive the day after tomorrow."

She sighed. "I miss them already. Imladris is not quite the same without all of them."

Elrond glanced over to his desk. Paperwork was beginning to pile up, and he was not at all eager to tackle it. Erestor usually handled that sort of thing, but it would be another week and a half before the advisor returned. "I agree," he said with conviction.

* * *

Erestor sighed. His head hurt, his shoulder hurt, his ankle hurt, and Súlfëa's every step jarred his bones. He could not think about anything for very long before Belegon, Malchathol, Arandur, or the Númenóreans came to mind. Glorfindel was being so cheerful and sunny that Erestor wanted to smack him. He just wanted to be left alone in his misery.

Glorfindel had been quiet for a full five minutes, but then he cleared his throat and glanced down at Erestor. "How are you holding up?"

Erestor gave him as dark a scowl as he could manage. "Do you really want to know?"

"I would not have asked if I did not," the Vanya countered.

"Fine, then. I am tired and miserable and I wish I was dead. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Glorfindel's smile sagged, and Erestor felt a bit of triumph. "I wish you would not say that, Erestor," said Glorfindel. "I am only trying to help."

"Help someone else, then," grumbled Erestor. "Someone who appreciates the effort."

Glorfindel was silent for a few minutes. "May I ask you a question, Erestor?" he finally asked.

"If you want."

"Why are you always so annoyed with me?"

Erestor thought about his reply. The question had not been put as self-pitying, or accusatory, or even as a whine. Glorfindel asked as if he simply wanted a reason. It was said in a short and to-the-point tone that Erestor grudgingly appreciated. In return, he decided to be completely honest.

"I do not know," Erestor answered. "It is as if everything you say to me is insulting or demeaning. I cannot seem to keep a clear head when you speak to me."

Glorfindel looked surprised. "I never mean to insult you," he said.

Erestor snorted. "Then do you mean that by calling me paranoid, untrustworthy, ungrateful, and impertinent, you meant to pay me a compliment?"

A flicker of shame and embarrassment passed over the fair Vanyan face. "I did not mean that. I lost my temper and said things that I now regret." He sighed and seemed to think deeply for a few minutes.

Finally Glorfindel appeared to come to a conclusion. "We are going to be out here alone for days, and I would rather not spend it arguing," the warrior said. "If I agree not to say anything insulting, will you agree not to be irritated and annoyed?"

Erestor lifted an eyebrow. Belegon's words passed through his mind: _I think that if you will make even the smallest bit of effort, you will be amazed at the results_. He agreed that the next few days would only be more miserable if he and Glorfindel were constantly angry with one another. "I like the idea, but it would be hard to promise something like that. How about you agree to _try_ not to say anything insulting, and I agree to _try_ not to be annoyed?"

"That would work, as long as we also agree to let the other one know the reason. It would be hard for me to understand what I am doing wrong if you never told me why you were angry with me."

Erestor nodded. That was fair enough. "I agree, then."

Glorfindel grabbed his right hand, avoiding the injured shoulder, and shook it enthusiastically. "As do I." Immediately he looked more relaxed and at peace, and the smile that graced his face was completely genuine.

Erestor wanted to feel happy along with him, but all he could think of was how glad the accord would have made Belegon. The captain had been his closest friend, and his death seemed to leave a black hole in Erestor's heart. Any joy that making peace with Glorfindel would have brought him was so dwarfed by the magnitude of the staggering loss he felt that it seemed not to exist at all.

* * *

Glorfindel smiled into the dancing flames of the small fire. They had stopped for a short rest. Night had fallen, and the clear sky was alight with glimmering silver stars. The world was calm and at peace.

He had not expected to feel as wonderful as he had upon coming to an agreement with Erestor. A heavy weight of guilt and hatred seemed to have slid off his shoulders and fallen to the ground. Arandur had been correct about Erestor, he thought, but now it was all dealt with and in the past. He could move on.

The only problem was that Erestor himself did not seem to feel the same way. If anything, he seemed worse. A few harsh words here and there had turned into no words at all, and his occasional irritated glances back at Glorfindel had also ceased. As the sheer shock of the disaster wore off, as well as the adjustment to his new position and injuries, the grief seemed to fully sink in. He never cried—Glorfindel would have been relieved if he had. He just seemed remote and detached. There was a dullness in his eyes that had nothing to do with his injuries, and he constantly seemed lost in thought.

They had stopped to rest under a small overhang of rock, and Glorfindel had taken watch while Erestor had almost immediately fallen fast asleep. Now Glorfindel's attention to the fire was broken by strange sounds coming from the corner that Erestor occupied. The warrior frowned and moved to see what was the matter.

Erestor was still asleep, but he was tossing and turning and mumbling. His pale face was creased in an expression of worry and horror. His hands were gripping the coverlet so hard that the knuckles were white, and he was panting.

"Erestor," said Glorfindel quietly. "Erestor, wake up." He reached for the uninjured shoulder and gave it a small shake.

Erestor's eyes snapped open. He immediately fell silent and blinked while he tried to catch his breath. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead.

"Are you all right?" asked Glorfindel with concern.

Erestor swallowed and took a deep breath. "It was only a dream."

Glorfindel kept his hand on Erestor's shoulder. Though the horror was slowly fading, hints of terror still remained in the dark blue eyes and the thin hands were trembling. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

The pale Elf shook his head. "It is nothing. I am sorry I troubled you," he said dully.

He looked over the advisor with a critical eye. He did not know much about injuries and healing, but it was only common sense that this could not be doing Erestor's wounds any good. Though the bleeding from his shoulder had lessened considerably the last time he had checked it, it was still not even close to being completely healed, and emotional trauma might have an averse effect.

"Since you are awake, I might as well look at that shoulder of yours," Glorfindel said. "I hope none of the stitches were pulled."

Erestor nodded and allowed Glorfindel to carefully unwrap the layers of bandage. What Glorfindel saw did nothing to allay his concern—all the thrashing around had only made the injury bleed even more. At least none of the stitches had come out. After the painful ordeal for himself and Rasaras to put them in—the younger Elf had tried to keep Erestor calm, since the herbs could only do so much, and Glorfindel had done the actual stitching—he was not at all eager to redo any of them. Fortunately, it would not be necessary. But he was hardly relieved. He remembered having to have stitches in his forearm once, from an unfortunate accident in Gondolin with an overeager young trainee, and the bleeding had completely stopped in about an hour. This wound was not so different, but the stitches had been in all day long and the bleeding still continued. It was as if Erestor's natural Elven ability to heal quickly was gone.

Erestor's quiet voice broke through his thoughts. "It has not recovered, has it?"

Glorfindel frowned._ He is too perceptive for his own good_, he thought. "It is not recovered yet, but the stitches are firmly intact. You need not worry."

"I am not worried," answered Erestor. His voice was calm and tired. There was no fear in his eyes now, or even pain. The brilliant blue depths were just empty.

Glorfindel would have preferred anything to the advisor's present demeanor of listless detachment. It was as if Erestor was making no special effort to stay alive. He just existed. It was unsettling to Glorfindel—he knew how to deal with almost anything, but he had no experience with a person who simply did not care whether they lived or died. Even those he had seen facing imminent death cared about living. There was a vacancy to Erestor's eyes and speech that frightened him.

But surely Elrond would know how to help him. Elrond was a healer, and Glorfindel knew he had gifts for healing injuries of every kind, physical and otherwise. If anyone could help Erestor, it was Elrond.

He redid the bandages. "Well, if you are rested, we might as well continue our journey. Would you like another dose of those herbs?"

Erestor frowned. "I am not in pain."

"Well, I would like you to take them anyway. They might help."

The advisor sighed. "If you want me to take them, it makes no difference to me."

Glorfindel helped him up to a sitting position and mixed the crushed herbs with water. He used as much of the remedy as his conscience would let him—he knew he was drugging Erestor, but it was for his own good. If the Elf was in a drugged state of unconsciousness, he would not be thinking whatever depressing thoughts had made him so upset. Besides, the herbs might help his injuries.

Erestor took the cup and drank its contents without comment. It would only be a matter of time before he fell asleep again.

"This is for your own good," Glorfindel said to him as he put out the fire and began to gather their possessions. "It will help you heal."

"It makes no difference," repeated Erestor in a slurred voice. "I do not know why you even care." His eyes closed.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Happy New Year, everyone! And just to let you know, the sequel to "Afternoon Tea" is in the editing stage.

**EmySumei**: ::smiles:: You know, I got the idea for that line from one I heard in a movie once. It's a favorite of mine, so I was glad to stick it in a story. :) If it makes anyone feel any better, I had about as much fun writing the deaths and consequences as everyone else had reading it. Thanks for reviewing!

**Neige**: Wow… it's always incredible when one of my favorite authors reviews something I've posted. I love "A Friday" dearly, even if I'm not that consistent of a reviewer. Erestor and Glorfindel have a lot to work out, certainly, and we'll see what happens with them. :D Thank you for reviewing… it's an honor!

**seeing-spots**: Hint taken. ;) I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I promise to update soon! Thank you for reviewing, as always. :)

Avalon Estel: No, I couldn't kill off Rasaras. To be honest, when I was first planning the story, I thought that all four of them were going to die, but then I realized that I liked Rasaras (Rather, I liked Rasaras's name; you have no idea how much time I spent splicing bits of Sindarin together to come up with it… shallow reasoning, I know, but now I've actually written him and I love him for himself.) too much to let him die. So he got off with a broken arm. :) Thank you for your review, and here's your update! 

**Erestor**: Well, I guess we can't always be profound. I know I'm not! And do you know, when I wrote the first draft I had imagined the burning separately, but I never thought to mention it. I'm glad you pointed that out. Glorfindel just needed an opportunity to be in charge, I think—he's a natural-born leader, and it suits him. He's a lot easier to deal with when he's calling the shots. Thank you for reviewing (you're wonderful) and please update EotTA soon… you left us hanging! By the way, thank you for wishing me good luck. Ten is the chapter I can't wait to post now!

**SilverWolf7**: Bad typing skills? Ha, you should see some of the stuff that ends up on my computer screen. Not pretty. I'm glad you liked this chapter… it was a bit difficult to write, since I wanted to make everything realistic (and I've never been in that situation myself) and at the same time I wanted to keep it from being a gory mess. Fear not, the sequel to "Afternoon Tea" is on the way… it's written, it just needs to be edited. Thank you for reviewing! (And please update "Lost" soon!!)

**moonlit-leaf**: Thank you so much! I agree, Erestor and Glorfindel aren't featured often enough, and so I had to take C. S. Lewis's advice to Tolkien and "write one myself." Thank you for reviewing!

**Elwen**: Couldn't kill off Erestor? Why, you're not implying that maybe I _like_ him, are you? ;) Actually, reactions to death are another area in which I'm writing what I don't know, so I'm pretty much guessing. Thank you! And sorry about the horses… at least Súlfëa survived, her personality intact. And as for Belegon… ::sighs:: I might have to do a prequel or something just so I can work with Belegon more. I really liked him. Thanks for reviewing, as always! And by the way, I got your e-mail about the website (sorry, I'm a horror for responding to people) and I'll have to see about posting. There are parental limits on what I can do on the Internet, so I'll have to clear it with them first. But I'll let others know to help you out!

**Dragon Confused**: Another review from a favorite author! ::is staggered:: Thank you so much for your kind words… I'm glad you liked "Snowballs"! Erestor is so much fun to write.

**Hathor**: I wondered if this was going to come up! Glorfindel's ancestry… I can honestly say that my guess is just that and nothing more. Tolkien never said specifically, as far as I know. The only family line with golden hair among the Elves that Tolkien elaborated on is the golden house of Finarfin, since Indis was a Vanya, but the children are clearly Noldor. I can't imagine that Tolkien would have ignored Glorfindel if his case was either similar or the same. Glorfindel's age was never mentioned, so I simply assumed that he was a Vanya from Valinor, possibly one that came over the Helcaraxë. I'm considering writing a story about Glorfindel's experiences in that time period, but it will have to wait until "First Impressions" and its sequel(s) are done. And I'm also assuming that Erestor hailed from Eregion, and was therefore a Noldo. I'm trying to stay as close to the canon as I can, but if I'm wrong in my guesses, I'm sorry. But I'm glad that you enjoy this one, and "Snowballs"! Thank you for your review!

**Noldo**: Ugh, finals. Be strong, be very strong. Actually mine went very well (except for the trigonometry one), thanks for asking! Good luck with your own. I'm a little surprised and a lot grateful as to what you said about how Rasaras reacted… having never lost anyone close to me like that, it was just a guess based on human nature. I'm glad it sounded realistic! Belegon is one of the first characters that I have written, learned to love, and then killed off, so I was slightly traumatized after I wrote that last chapter. I miss him. Is this a soon enough update? ;) Take care, and thank you for your review!

**Tiryns**: Thank you for your review! It's good to find another fan of Erestor and Glorfindel. I definitely agree; there isn't enough good fanfiction about those two. Continuing as requested… ;)

_Coming Soon: Chapter Nine: Running_


	9. Running

_**Chapter Nine: Running**_

Rasaras loved to run. He loved the sun on his face, the wind rushing through his hair, his feet barely touching the ground with each step. It was a feeling of freedom, as if he was a being unbound to earth or sky. But today, he felt differently.

He felt as if he was running away from something. He knew that he was not, that he was just obeying Glorfindel's command. He knew that what he was doing was as important as what Glorfindel was doing. But that could not change the feeling of guilt that lodged in his mind: a kind of shame, as if he was doing something wrong by running home.

He came to a stop by one of the trees. Its branches rose high above the forest floor, every twig and limb dusted with snow. Here and there, birds were perched on the branches. None of the feathered creatures seemed disturbed by Rasaras's presence.

He sighed as soon as he had caught his breath. This area of the forest was so peaceful and calm. The wind had become stronger, but at least it was blowing _toward_ Imladris rather than the other direction. The snow did not bother the little birds—they darted around the branches and called to one another, as if neither blizzards nor Númenóreans meant anything to them.

Through the thick growth of trees, he could see a single doe moving silently across the snow. She paused and gazed up at Rasaras, taking him in with her deep black eyes. She gingerly approached him, her large oval ears swiveling back and forth as if she was cautious of some danger. He stood as still as he could.

She stepped right up to him and sniffed delicately at his broken arm, as if to try to understand why it was hanging in a splint. Apparently the only Elves she had ever seen were perfectly healthy, and an injured Elf was something new and disturbing to her. He smiled to reassure her that all was well.

Suddenly her ears pricked and she darted in the other direction, her white tail sticking straight up like a warning flag. The birds screeched and nearly ran into one another in their rush to fly away as quickly as they could. A short howl echoed in the forest behind Rasaras.

His heart leaped into his throat. _Wolves!_

If he ran to escape, he would not leave a clear enough trail for Glorfindel and Erestor without leaving a trail that was also clear enough for the hunting wolves. If he stayed, the wolves would simply attack him. He had only one solution.

He jumped as high as he could and clutched at the lowest branch of the tree with his good arm. With one arm broken and hanging useless in a splint, he realized that he might have trouble getting up the tree. He tried to swing himself toward the trunk, so that somehow he could wrap his legs around the brach and twist himself onto it. It was a difficult maneuver, but it was less painful than meeting death at the hands of the ravenous predators.

He had just managed to balance himself on the branch when the wolves burst into view. They circled the tree, sniffing greedily, and tried to leap at him. The leader of the pack snarled at Rasaras, its yellow eyes burning with hunger.

Rasaras shrank against the trunk of the tree. He wished that his arm was not broken—he could easily defeat the wolves if he had the use of his bow!

Suddenly the lead wolf stopped and sniffed the air. It gave a few short barks to its pack and then ran off in the other direction.

Rasaras frowned with confusion. Why did the wolves just leave? They were thin and mean with hunger; why did they simply leave him in the tree?

Then it hit him. The wind was blowing _toward_ Imladris. It carried the scent of everything _behind_ Rasaras to the wolves.

The wolves had picked up the scent of Glorfindel and Erestor.

* * *

Snow swirled around Glorfindel's head, tugging his hood in every direction. It was only a light snowfall, but the wind was strong enough to unnerve him. Súlfëa plodded on through the drifts, doggedly refusing to give up.

He glanced down at Erestor, who had awoken after a few hours of restless sleep. The advisor was wrapped in his warmest cloak, but he was shaking and shivering so hard that his teeth chattered. Glorfindel frowned—Elves were not supposed to feel the cold, only mortals did. But there was no doubt that Erestor was cold. His lips even had a blue sheen.

Glorfindel bent so that he could speak to Erestor without shouting. "Are you all right?"

The blue eyes found his, vibrant with fear. "Cold," Erestor gasped between shivers.

Glorfindel hesitated. He could not just give Erestor his own cloak; he was wearing it, and he had no desire to let wet snow seep in through his tunic. But he could not just leave things as they were—if Erestor was shivering with the cold, something was very wrong with him. He had to keep him warm.

"Lean back," Glorfindel said. The advisor looked confused, but he obeyed. Glorfindel reached on either side for his cloak and wrapped the thick fabric around both himself and Erestor like a blanket, his arms crossed in the front.

Erestor shuddered and closed his eyes, huddling into the offered warmth. "Thank you."

Glorfindel smiled. "You're welcome." Then he frowned. It seemed like Erestor was all skin and bones wrapped in layers of cloth. No wonder he felt the cold; he was practically emaciated. He looked like he was wasting away with grief and injury and despair.

Glorfindel drew his arms tighter around the bony shoulders. No one in his company or under his care was going to die of depression. It was an absurd waste of life. Erestor deserved better than that.

"I did not bring you all this way so that you could die," he said in Erestor's ear. "I can tell you that Mandos is not merciful to those who die such pitiful deaths."

Erestor gave a mirthless chuckle. "What about those who live such pitiful lives that everyone would be better off if they were dead?"

"I have yet to meet anyone like that," said Glorfindel, but his heart sank. So that was the root of the problem. He had said terrible things without thinking, and Erestor had listened. Valar, he had thought that all that animosity was behind them!

Erestor did not argue, but his eyes were filled with doubt. He shivered.

* * *

There was something wrong. Erestor could not put his finger on whatever it was, but he could feel it. His mind was not very clear, and the fact that not even Glorfindel's thick cloak could keep him warm was alarming, but everything else was overrided with the intense feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.

The dream from the night before continued to haunt him. Faces he knew from years ago had surrounded him, and familiar voices had screamed his name—some in fury, some in desperation. Even now, when he was awake, he could constantly see the faces out of the corner of his eye.

He turned to look behind him. "Glorfindel? Do you think we are being followed?"

Glorfindel frowned. "Followed? No, why do you think that?"

"There are faces in the forest. Can you not see them? They peek out from behind the trees and watch us pass."

Glorfindel looked around, then down at Erestor. His eyes were wide, and he looked disturbed. "Are you feeling all right, Erestor?" He pulled off his glove and then put it to Erestor's face, as if to see whether or not he had a fever. "You're hallucinating."

Erestor slapped the hand away in frustration. "Stop making a jest of it, Glorfindel. I am being serious. Something is wrong, I know it. I think perhaps we are being followed."

"I am certainly being serious. There _is_ something wrong. Are you sure that you feel all right?"

"Yes, I am sure!" tossed back Erestor with disgust, choosing to ignore the fact that his headache had returned in full force. "Listen to me! There is something wrong here. I know it beyond any shadow of doubt."

Glorfindel hesitated. His face was full of sympathy and worry. "I—I will keep an eye out, Erestor." He gave a short, nervous laugh. "I have certainly learned not to ignore you."

Erestor wanted to scream with frustration. His thoughts would not stay in order, he had a feeling of impending doom, he was seeing faces behind the trees that Glorfindel dismissed as fancies, and now Glorfindel was patronizing him!

Suddenly he heard a faint howling noise. He turned to Glorfindel. "There, did you hear that?"

Glorfindel's expression had turned from concern to wariness. "Yes. It sounds like wolves."

Another howl sounded, much closer than the first. Súlfëa gave a short whinny of fear. Her ears pricked.

Erestor felt Glorfindel's grip tighten. The Vanya had kept an arm around his waist as they rode, to make sure that Erestor did not fall off since he was usually asleep. It was a measure of precaution that Erestor had resented at first, since prolonged physical contact tended to irritate him, but he had since then grudgingly accepted it as a necessity. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed and he glanced around the forest.

The warrior's voice dropped to a whisper. "They are nearer than I thought. If they come any closer, we will make a break for the river. If I give Súlfëa the command, I will need you to hold on as tightly as you can." He glanced down at Súlfëa. "Let us hope that you can live up to your name, Windspirit," he murmured to the terrified mare.

Wild gray creatures burst out of the forest. Glorfindel shoved Erestor down against the horse's neck as one of the wolves flew right over them. Sharp howls and barks drowned out Súlfëa's screamlike neigh, and she took off at a dead gallop before Glorfindel could even give the command.

"Ride on!" urged Glorfindel. He leaned forward, so close that Erestor could almost hear both of their heartbeats. The wolves ran along beside them, their eyes furious with hunger. Several of the beasts were foaming at the mouth. Erestor nearly felt sick to his stomach as one jawed muzzle came so near his face that he could smell the rancid breath.

The wind tore at the riders. Branches slashed at their faces as they passed by too quickly to avoid them.

Suddenly Glorfindel tensed. "Hold on!" he said in Erestor's ear, then hunched over him with an arm around his head.

Erestor felt the sharp impact as Súlfëa landed a tremendous jump, then heard an all-too-familiar cracking sound beneath the flying hooves. They had reached the river, but the ice was still too thin to bear the weight of a horse and two full-grown riders.

Súlfëa galloped onward. The strong wind had blown away much of the snow here, so it was easier for her to run, but the ice was cracking right under her.

The barks of the wolves suddenly changed into shrill cries of terror. The river shattered under the gray paws. Sounds of splashing and struggling echoed behind them, then faded into nothing.

* * *

Rasaras came to a complete stop as he reached the crest of the hill. Snow covered the valley of Imladris and lay on the roof of the House of Elrond like a thick white blanket. The windows allowed glimpses of warm fires inside, and Rasaras could hear the sound of pipes and merry voices.

He felt like bursting into tears. At last he was home.

Fire seemed to pour into his tired muscles as he flew over the hill and ran toward the gleaming house. The wind was at his back, as if propelling him toward the valley by its own will.

Snowflakes caught in the braids of his pale blond hair. His broken arm burned with pain.

He kept running.

The corner of his cloak caught on an outcropping of rock and tore, leaving a shred of dark green cloth. His boots felt like stones tied to his feet.

He kept running.

Surprised voices greeted him as he neared the main house. He did not recognize any of the faces, but one of the Elves was wearing a healer's robes. Rasaras stumbled over to him.

"Master Healer!" he called. "You must make ready!"

The Elf's strong arms reached out to him, as if to hold him up. "Rasaras Eltatharion?"

Voices surrounded Rasaras's head like tittering birds.

"Were you not one of the delegates to Mithlond?"

"Why are you back so soon?"

"Where are the others?"

The healer shooed the chattering Elves away. "Please, everyone, make room! Can you not see that the boy is injured?" The dark-haired healer grasped Rasaras's shoulders and led him down the hall to the healing wing.

They met Lord Elrond in the hall. The Elf-lord looked at Rasaras and the healer with surprise.

"Mírhael? Who is this?"

Rasaras glanced up at Lord Elrond. "Rasaras Eltatharion, milord. I bring word from Lord Glorfindel."

Lord Elrond quickly opened the door to the healing chambers and ushered Rasaras and Mírhael inside. "Lord Glorfindel?"

Rasaras nodded. Mist was beginning to gather before his eyes, and the pain in his arm had increased tenfold. "He says to make ready for his and Master Erestor's arrival. Master Erestor is badly hurt and in need of healing."

Lord Elrond's eyebrows flew up to his hairline. "What about Captain Belegon, Malchathol, and Arandur?"

He swallowed and looked straight up at the Elf-lord with the last of his failing strength. "They are dead."

Mírhael barely managed to catch him as he dropped, unconscious, to the floor.

* * *

Glorfindel gazed up at the thick gray clouds with apprehension. Their problems were not over yet. They were now only several hours' hard ride from Imladris, but there was another blizzard brewing.

He shook his head and walked over to where Erestor still slept. After the incident with the wolves, Glorfindel had decided to stop and rest rather than ride any longer. Erestor had looked dangerously pale, and he was still cold. Not to mention the fact that he was hallucinating. Glorfindel vowed to himself that from now on, he would not give anyone any kind of medicine until he knew exactly how much was necessary!

"Erestor," he called gently, nudging the sleeping advisor. "Wake up. It's time to go."

He turned and began loading their belongings onto Súlfëa. The mare had rested and fully recovered from their strenuous ride. It was as if she could sense that they were drawing near to her home, and she was eager to rest in the stables. He tied on the last satchel and then turned around to see Erestor still asleep under the tree.

"Erestor, come on," he called. "We do not have time to wait. There is another snowstorm on the way, and if we hurry, we might make it to Imladris before it hits. We are only a day away."

Erestor still did not get up.

Glorfindel huffed and walked over. Of all the times for Erestor to sleep in! "Enough dawdling. This is no time to be contrary."

No answer.

Something was not right. Glorfindel reached for Erestor's uninjured shoulder and gave it a firm shake. "Erestor. Wake up. It's time to leave."

No response.

A cold feeling of panic ran up Glorfindel's spine as he crouched beside the advisor and picked him up to a semi-sitting position. "Erestor? Answer me!" He shook the Noldo as hard as he could. "Wake up! By the Valar, Erestor, _wake up!_"

The closed eyelids did not even flutter.

Glorfindel grabbed for his left wrist. "We're so close to home! Come on, don't give up now!" He held his fingers to the blue-veined skin. Erestor's hand was so cold.

Seconds ticked by like hours as Glorfindel breathlessly waited. Finally he detected a faint pulse. It was far too weak and slow, but it was there.

He closed his eyes and let out a relieved breath, allowing his face to fall forward and come to rest on the dark hair. "Don't scare me like that," he said, his voice faltering.

Glorfindel glanced over him, then groaned aloud as he saw the source of the problem. The strenuous, jarring ride had reopened the shoulder cut, and it was bleeding again. Whether or not the stitches had torn, Glorfindel had no idea, but the blood had already soaked through the bandage and was beginning to show through the dark tunic.

He returned to Súlfëa and pulled a fresh bandage out of one of the satchels. He did not have time to restitch the wound, or even carefully rebandage it. A blizzard was brewing, Erestor was bleeding to death, and it was almost nightfall. Time was of the essence. He tied the clean bandage around both the tunic and the shoulder, tightening it to perhaps help stop the bleeding.

He picked up the comatose advisor—a task that was much easier than he was comfortable with—and set him on Súlfëa, then leaped on after him.

"Ride on!" he called to the mare, shifting as he undid the clasp of his gray cloak and wrapped the thick fabric around Erestor.

Glorfindel bent to whisper in the advisor's ear. "Don't give up yet. We're almost home. Hold on." He sighed. "Just hold on."

Snowflakes drifted down around his face. He had never felt so alone.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**I really, truly _am_** **working on the sequel to "Afternoon Tea"! There's something about the style that I'm not sure I like. But I _am_ working on it.**

**Coolio02:** Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying the story!

**Tiryns**: Can't kill Erestor, can I? We'll just have to see about all of that… ::snickers:: Sorry this update took a while, but I've been busy with school and writing. Thank you so much for your review!

**Sirielle**: Happy New Year to you, too! Poland? Wow… that's amazing. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and this one too! I want to keep this story as close to the canon as I can, so I appreciate it when helpful reviewers point things out to me. Thank you!

**Avalon Estel**: ::shrinks back in fear:: No! Anything but that, Avie! I'll take a sane Glorfindel (or even a _slightly_ mad one) but please, nothing like that! ;) The sequel to "Afternoon Tea" will be up as soon as I know what to do with it. Thanks for your review, and take care!

**SilverWolf7**: Well, what can I say? I love your story. It's not like anything I've read here, and I'd like to know what happens! If you want, you can send me the troublesome chapter and I'll beta it for you, or you can just post it and redo it later. But you're leaving us hanging! As for the dreams… I often have weird (but not portentous, by any means) dreams myself, and they can be unnerving. Anyway, thanks for your review!

**Noldo**: Math… shudders I don't like it a bit, I'm afraid. I just dropped my calculus course today. It was just too much. It's so easy to get attached to my characters… it's almost like I feel responsible for them, and it's hard to just let them die. What else can go wrong? You probably didn't want to know, but maybe this chapter answered your question anyway. We rang in 2005 by watching CNN and then going to bed. Very exciting, I _assure_ you. ;) Anyway, thank you for your review and take care! (And I mean that! How is your mother, by the way?)

**Ellie in ElfPajamas**: Hello! I'm glad you like the story… there just isn't enough good Glorfindel and Erestor non-slash fanfiction these days! I was thinking about the character of both Glorfindel and Erestor, and how different they are to one another, and it struck me that it might have been a little difficult for them in the beginning, since they're such opposites. And then the rest fell into place after that. Thank you for your review!

**seeing-spots**: I'm updating! I'm updating! Glorfindel really is wonderful when he's concerned for someone else… it's a lot of fun to write him. And wow… I post "Fallen to Ashes," take a break to go eat lunch, and then come back and see your review! You sure know how to brighten my day. That piece was another one that I wasn't sure that I should post, but instead of my sister talking me into it, this time the author **Erestor** (as opposed to the Elf) assured me that it wasn't really drivel like I thought it was. Writing Silm-fic is almost as fun as writing Glorfindel-and-Erestor-fic. Thank you so much for your reviews, and take care!

**Neige**: Aw, there's no need to scold Erestor… he can't really do much about it, seeing as he's practically fading. And I'm glad you liked the snoring thing… I know this fic has come to a rather dismal point, but I like to keep _some_ humor in there. Oh, you have to write a paper and do finals? I understand exactly. ::hugs Neige:: Here's a new chapter for you! Thank you so much for your review, and good luck!

**mage of the winter**: Thank you! It's interesting to write Glorfindel and Erestor as enemies, but fun. Their arguments are very entertaining to write. Yes, Erestor is more than a little defensive of his domain! Glorfindel's feelings about Gondolin will definitely have to be dealt with, won't they… :) Thank you for your review, and I hope you like the rest of the story as well!

**EmySumei**: Yes, they've come to a bit of an agreement… but now they've run into a few inconveniences. LOL! Yes, Glorfindel is a pretty awful healer… I'm glad he's not _my_ doctor. ::blushes:: Thank you… I guess it's because I read so much, and I tend to unconsciously mimic the style of what I read. What a compliment! Thank you for your review, and take care!

_**Coming Soon:** Chapter Ten: Home_


	10. Home

_**Chapter Ten: Home**_

Elrond exited the room and gently closed the door behind himself. Mírhael was at his elbow.

"Milord? Will the lad recover?" asked the apprentice healer, worry creasing his forehead.

"Yes, he will recover. His most serious injury is a broken arm, and it was well-splinted, so the bone should mend quickly. He is exhausted, but a few days' bed rest will remedy that. I am more concerned about his message."

Mírhael swallowed. "Do you think it is true, then? I thought that perhaps he was delirious when he gave it."

Elrond sighed. "I wish I could believe that, but my heart tells me otherwise. Something evil happened to them in the wilderness."

The healer's face fell. "What can we do?"

"For now, watch Rasaras and alert me when he awakes. I will send a messenger to his family. A room should be prepared for Erestor, since Rasaras said that he was wounded, and I will tell the guards to watch the borders for any sign of Glorfindel."

Mírhael bowed. "Yes, milord." He went back into Rasaras's room and shut the door.

Elrond found a messenger a few minutes later and sent him to Eltathar's house, with a short message that Rasaras had returned with minor injuries and he was being tended in the healing halls.

He paused for a moment before a large window in the hallway. Snow was falling again outside, and the sunset had faded into night. Imladris had lost so much… they could not lose Glorfindel and Erestor as well.

_Elbereth_, he prayed silently, _protect them. Guide them. Bring them home to us._

The starless sky was silent.

* * *

Rasaras lay for a few seconds in the dreamlike state between sleeping and waking. The room around him was warm, and it smelled fresh and clean. He could hear the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth. His pillow was so soft that his head felt like it was floating, and the blankets were tucked around his chin. He took a deep, contented breath.

"Rasaras?" The voice barely penetrated his tranquil state.

"Just a few more minutes, Nana," he murmured, lifting his left arm to wave away the person that he was sure was his mother coming to wake him up for morning guard duty.

There was a moment of silence. "I am not your mother," said the voice with a note of surprise and unease.

The unfamiliar voice and the sudden jolt of pain through his arm made Rasaras jerk fully awake. He stared at his surroundings, then at the strange person standing beside his bed. "Where am I, and who are you?" he asked.

The stranger turned away from Rasaras and began fumbling with items on the table beside Rasaras's sickbed. "I am Mírhael Laiquerillion, an apprentice healer to Lord Elrond of Imladris," he said in a distinctly male voice that held a distinctly Noldorin accent. This Elf was _definitely_ not Rasaras's mother. "You are in Lord Elrond's halls of healing. Do you remember how you came to be here?"

Memories came slowly back into focus. The departure… the Númenóreans… the battle… the wolves… stumbling into Imladris…

"Yes," he finally said.

Mírhael paused in his task of mixing a small dish of ground herbs. "Lord Elrond said to fetch him when you awoke. I will return momentarily." He quickly left the room.

Rasaras sighed and stared into the fire. So much had happened in the last few days. It was hard to believe that Captain Belegon, Arandur, and Malchathol were really gone, but they were. They had died for… for what? There _was_ no reason. No grand cause. No history-shaping battle. And why did the Númenóreans attack them? There was no reason. No purpose. Just wasted lives. None of it made any sense.

The door opened and Lord Elrond strode into the room. He was dressed in his green healer's robes and he was carrying a small kettle of water, but he gave Rasaras a kind smile as he walked in. "How are you feeling this morning?" Lord Elrond asked.

Rasaras paused—there was no way he could bow to his lord, or show him any sign of respect, since he was stretched out on a bed in the healing chambers. "Much better, milord."

"I am glad to hear it," said Lord Elrond sincerely. He put the kettle on the fire and stirred in the ground herbs that Mírhael had mixed.

"Have Lord Glorfindel or Master Erestor arrived?" asked Rasaras, half dreading the answer.

"Not yet," answered Lord Elrond with a sigh. "But the border guards are keeping watch. If you wish, I will have someone let you know when they arrive."

Rasaras nodded. "Thank you."

There was a moment of silence while Lord Elrond stirred the contents of the kettle. "If you do not mind," he said, his back to Rasaras, "I would like to know what happened in the wilderness."

Rasaras swallowed. "We were attacked by Númenóreans."

Lord Elrond froze. He let go of the spoon and turned around, his keen gray eyes full of surprise. "Númenóreans? Are you certain?"

"Yes," whispered Rasaras. "Their leader was named Morazôn. There was a blizzard, and we took shelter in a cave, but the Númenóreans were already there. They invited us to stay, and were very kind and generous, but then that night they attacked us. We did nothing to provoke them." He took a deep breath. "We were victorious, but Captain Belegon, Malchathol, and Arandur died in the battle. Master Erestor was hurt badly, and Lord Glorfindel sent me ahead so that I could warn you and you would be ready."

Lord Elrond swallowed, then resolutely turned back to the bubbling kettle and took it off of the fire. "What do you remember about Erestor's injuries?" he asked, his voice taut.

Rasaras grimaced as he recalled the ordeal of trying to sew the cut on Erestor's shoulder closed. "His ankle was broken, there was a cut on the back of his head, and we had to put stitches in a long cut on his shoulder."

Lord Elrond thought for a moment. "Was there a lot of blood?"

Rasaras flinched. It seemed like that had been all there was in the cave. Blood on the weapons, blood on the floor, blood on his hands… "Yes," he breathed.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. It was not a quiet knock, as Rasaras would have imagined that it would be if of Lord Elrond's assistants had arrived. It was loud, fast, and insistent.

Lord Elrond strode to the door and opened it a crack, then turned to Rasaras with a small smile. "You have a visitor." He stepped back to let the Elf in, then left the room.

Eltathar practically flew to Rasaras's bedside. He was still wearing his cloak, there was snow clinging to his clothes, and his hair was a bit messy. He looked as if he had come in a hurry.

"Father," Rasaras said weakly. He had never been so overwhelmed by the sight of his father before. He had been terribly homesick for the first few days on the journey, but everything that had happened had pushed that to the back of his mind. Only now, finally seeing his father, did he remember how much he had missed him.

Eltathar pushed a few loose strands of hair out of Rasaras's face. "I am here, my Rasaras, I am here," he murmured. "I came as soon as I received Lord Elrond's message."

Rasaras reached with his uninjured arm and clasped his father's wrist, holding the hand to his face. "I missed you." _More than I ever thought I would_, he wanted to say.

Eltathar sat down on the side of the mattress and bent forward to kiss his son's forehead. He had not done that since Rasaras was an Elfling. "I am sorry that we sent you on that journey," he said. "I never thought that it would be so dangerous."

"They all died, Father," Rasaras said. "Everyone but me, and Lord Glorfindel and Master Erestor. Everyone else died."

"I know. Lord Elrond told me that my son is a tried warrior now." There was a note of sadness in his voice.

Rasaras closed his eyes. "I killed them. The Men. One of them tried to kill Lord Glorfindel… I didn't stop to think about what I was doing. I killed him. It was so easy to kill him." He tried to keep his voice steady. "He looked—startled—there was blood on my sword and my hands—so much blood."

Eltathar pulled Rasaras up against his chest. "You didn't run away."

"I couldn't," he choked. "They needed me. Malchathol and the others. I tried to help them, but they died anyway. They all died."

"Hush, Rasaras," breathed Eltathar, gently running his fingers through Rasaras's unbraided hair. "You did nothing wrong. You stood your ground like a warrior and did everything you could." He held Rasaras to himself as tightly as he could, being careful of the broken arm. "I could not be more proud of you."

Rasaras could stand it no longer. Feeling more like an Elfling than a warrior, he buried his face in his father's shirt and cried.

* * *

Glorfindel gritted his teeth. They were so close. So very close.

He was soaking wet, since he had given Erestor his cloak, and even though the snow did not chill him, it was hardly comfortable. His muscles were sore from the hours of riding at breakneck speed, and he cold tell that Súlfëa was tiring. And Erestor… Glorfindel was afraid to check his pulse for fear that he wouldn't find it. He would rather just believe that the advisor was still alive. He tightened his grip on the Elf, hoping that perhaps sheer willpower would be enough to keep him alive until Elrond could help him.

It was strange, he reflected as Súlfëa flew over the drifts. He couldn't figure out why he was so intent on keeping Erestor alive. It wasn't about proving anything to Elrond—the advisor's wounds were serious enough that it would be understandable if he died because of them. It wasn't about placating Belegon or Arandur—they were dead. It wasn't about duty—he was doing that already, and duty didn't require him to care. But he did. He cared very much.

He thought back over the conversations he had had with Erestor, and the times when he had observed the advisor without Erestor knowing it. There was something different about him. He was acrimonious, yes, and he distrusted almost everyone. At first he had reminded Glorfindel of Maeglin, the traitorous son of Eöl that had been responsible for Gondolin's fall, and he had almost felt justified disliking him. But the more he was around Erestor, the more he realized that perhaps he had misjudged him. Maeglin would not have looked genuinely repentant if rebuked, Maeglin would not have thanked Glorfindel for a kindness, and Maeglin would not have asked about his safety right after a battle. But Erestor had done those things.

Arandur had said that Erestor was not being vindictive when he lashed out. At first Glorfindel had dismissed the idea, but now that he thought about it, he had to admit that it was possible. _Anger is a secondary emotion_, his father had told him once. _It always stems from something deeper. Learn to look behind anger, and judge the reason before you judge the person who is angry._ Glorfindel had taken his father's advice to heart, and had become very good at figuring out what made people angry. Usually it was fear, or wounded pride, or frustration. Sometimes it was even love, when people would become furious on behalf of a loved one who had been wronged. Glorfindel always dealt with the cause of the anger, and because of that had been widely regarded as a good 'people person.' It was certainly a useful skill.

Now he considered all the times that Erestor had become angry with him, trying to see what might have been the cause. Erestor had seemed angry when he had first seen Glorfindel at Elrond's dinner… but that was an easy one. Erestor always looked uncomfortable and slightly bored at official dinners. It had probably had nothing to do with Glorfindel at all. Erestor had been angry when Lindir had decided that he would rather work with Glorfindel… that one was easy, too. Erestor had simply been hurt. He had tried to do something nice for Lindir, and his offer had been soundly and unceremoniously rejected. Erestor had been angry when Glorfindel had made the joke about his appearance and limp… obviously that anger stemmed from hurt as well. Erestor couldn't help looking like that, and he had been limping because he had injured himself on the ice.

Glorfindel glanced down at the pale Elf. His eyes were still closed, and his shallow breathing was barely enough to make a visible cloud around his mouth in the cold air. He looked vulnerable. It was obvious how precariously he was clinging to life.

Fear found its way into the pit of Glorfindel's stomach. It would be so easy for Erestor to die. Even if he _did_ make it home alive, there was no guarantee that Elrond would be able to help him. Grief for his friends' deaths had weakened him considerably, and the injuries were serious enough that they could push him off the edge.

Glorfindel couldn't let that happen.

He couldn't remember a time when he had so seriously misjudged a person, or been so blindly prejudiced. Erestor _had_ to stay alive… if only so that Glorfindel could have the chance to apologize.

Imladris came into view with all the suddenness of a bolt of lightning. They were minutes away from home.

Súlfëa seemed to come alive at the sight of the stables. She flew down the path like a thing possessed, her legs a blur against the snow. Glorfindel shouted encouragement to her as she neared the bright House.

Finally they arrived. Súlfëa came to a stumbling halt, panting and wheezing. A stable hand ran up as Glorfindel slid off her back and then eased Erestor off as well.

The stable hand shouted something to Glorfindel, but he did not have the time to listen or answer. He had to reach the halls. He had to reach Elrond. The limp Elf in his arms depended on him.

He ignored the pandemonium that his arrival created in the main hall. The Elves had good reason to be surprised at the sight of a wet, bedraggled Elf-lord rushing into the House of Elrond with a Chief Advisor who looked for all the world like a corpse, but there was no time to explain anything to them.

Elrond met him in the doorway to one of the healing chambers. No words of greeting were exchanged as the lord gently took Erestor and placed him on one of the sickbeds. There was already a fire in the hearth, a stack of fresh bandages on the table, and a change of dry clothes nearby.

Glorfindel's job was over. Everything was in Elrond's hands now. He had accomplished his duty, both to his lord and to Erestor.

With that thought in mind, Glorfindel collapsed into one of the empty sickbeds nearby and immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**seeing-spots: **You and your incredible reviews! Yes, Glorfindel is a wonderful character, and the more I read (and write!) about him, the more I love him. When am I going to get to read more of "From the Ashes"? It's been a while since you updated… ;) And "Scarlet Leaves"… thank you! I think I'm going to have to expound upon Erestor's departure, especially that _one particular image_ that I cannot get out of my head… but we'll see. Thank you so much for all of your lovely reviews!

**Undomearel Ithilien**: It made you cry? Wow, thank you!

**kenzimone**: Wow, what a review! It's an incredible honor to think that you love this story so much. I agree, there's definitely not enough non-slash Erestor-and-Glorfindel stories! It's depressing to read through the list and want to gag at the summaries. I'm glad you like the characterization… Glorfindel pretty much writes himself for this story, but I'm always hesitant about Erestor, since he's so much like me that I run the risk of making him a strange species of self-insertion. I love angst too… well-done angst seems to deepen the characters, somehow. I hope the wait wasn't too long! And as for "Scarlet Leaves"—Pippin and Erestor are two of my favorite characters, and it's fun to watch them interact. Sam's _mallorn_ is one of my favorite parts, too. ;)

**LOTRFaith**: Thank you very much! I'm glad that I ended up posting "Fallen to Ashes"… when I wrote it, I never intended to show it to anyone else, but I'm glad I finally did.

**Vana Tuivana:** I'm really overwhelmed by the response to "Fallen to Ashes"! It's such a depressing story that I didn't know if anyone would even like it, and I'm amazed that so many people have! I couldn't imagine that Celegorm would have had a peaceful death—since he made sure that so many others had miserable deaths—but at the same time, I could never get it out of my head that even though he was a vicious kinslayer, he was still Maglor's baby brother. Thank you so much for your review!

**Ellie in ElfPajamas**: Well, so far he's alive… so far… muahaha… ;) Just kidding. This is a non-slash fic, and I'm a non-slash person, so there's _no way_ he's going to be gay in this story! And I don't think liking angst is sadistic… I have yet to figure out why people (like me) adore angst, but I don't think it's sadism. Thank you so much for your review!

**SilverWolf7**: Gracious, that does sound like a strange dream… did he seem to recognize you, as if he might have had the same dream? Glorfindel definitely has a lot on his plate now! Yes, I like that description… one relatively whole piece. That pretty much describes poor Rasaras! And thank you for your review of "Scarlet Leaves"! I wanted this one to be a little different… Post-Quest Pippin wasn't quite as merry and jolly as Pre-Quest Pippin, but it was good that he and Erestor could cheer one another up. Thank you so much for all your reviews!

**Scott**: Elves are indeed challenging to write, for that very reason, but even though they're hard, I'm addicted to them. :) I'm glad you like my portrayal… nothing I do is perfect, but I'm honored that you think I did well. Thank you for your review!

**Elfique**: Thank you! Death scenes are interesting to write, because they're a delicate balance… there is constantly the danger of overdoing it in one aspect or another. I'm glad you enjoyed (sort of) "Fallen to Ashes"!

**Annie789**: Wow, what a review! I didn't realize how much people would like this story before I posted it, especially since almost everyone hates Celegorm. Thank you so much for your review!

**Ellfine**: Thank you! I didn't really think about the technical aspects of the story while I was writing it… I just let it flow, and then went back later and edited it until I was satisfied with the way it sounded. I'm so glad that you enjoyed it! And you printed out all nine chapters of "First Impressions"! That's incredible… I think you're probably the only person that has a hard copy! I know I don't… our printer is a sad little machine. Sorry that this update took a while, but I've had a pretty hectic few weeks. And as for "Scarlet Leaves"… Pippin and Erestor are fun to write together, because they seem to balance one another out. Pippin is young and merry, and Erestor is ancient and thoughtful, but both are willing to learn from one another. Thanks for your reviews!

**jilian baade**: Thank you for your review… yes, it was sad to write, and whenever I reread it I was always pretty depressed for a while. But I'm glad that you liked it!

**Neige**: Having never had a broken arm myself, I have to guess what it's like, but I can imagine that it is indeed very painful! By the way, I don't fault you for adoring Glorfindel… he's definitely adorable! I just have an extremely soft spot for Erestor. This chapter is called "Home," yes… but will they be all right? Muahaha. You'll see. And thank you for your review of "Fallen to Ashes," too! It's hard to hate the Sons of Fëanor… especially Maglor. I love him dearly. I think the idea that started this story was that, yes, Celegorm was an awful kinslayer, but he's still Maglor's little brother. And we older siblings can never forget a thing like that. :)

**kel**: Yes, poor Erestor. :hugs Erestor: Yes, they are almost home… but "home" doesn't automatically mean "out of danger"! Thanks for your review!

**BanbieBunny**: I wasn't trying to write an "angst" story, really, but I guess that's just how it happened. I wondered about the scene, and then I wrote it. I agree a lot of angst isn't really sad… but I'm glad that you liked this one. Thank you so much for your review!

**Evenstar Elanor**: Thank you! You really think that this is the best death scene that you ever read? Wow, what a compliment! Thank you so much for your review, and I'm glad that you enjoyed it!

**Naz**: It made you cry? Wow. I'm glad that you thought it was so moving! Thank you so much for reviewing!

**Avalon Estel**: What, you mean you don't want me to have Erestor injured beyond recovery? How strange. I wouldn't want Glorfindel to be my doctor, either… I hope he's a better warrior than he is a healer! And thank you so much for your review of "Scarlet Leaves"! The Elves' leaving always seemed to be so awful to me, too, but writing this story seemed to make it a little clearer to me, too. As far as the trees, the leaves die, and life goes on. In Middle-earth, the Elves depart, and life goes on… not quite as beautiful, but not wholly desolate. Erestor is wonderful no matter what he's doing, and Pippin… Pippin just makes everything that much better. :) And wow, thank you for the review of "Fallen to Ashes"! Maedhros and Maglor are my favorites, too, but I always felt strangely sorry for Celegorm. I mean, he was always described as "Celegorm the Fair," and it seemed awful to me that something so fair could have fallen so far. To Maglor, he was just little brother Tyelkormo. Yes, don't forget your sisters! Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews!

**Lady Elwen Iluvalatari**: Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews! I'm glad that you liked "Fallen to Ashes"… I wasn't sure how much sympathy anyone would have for Celegorm, since he does some pretty awful things in the Sil, but I had to pity him when I looked through Maglor's eyes. I can't imagine that even Fëanor's family was always ruthless and nasty. It almost made you cry? Wow. And as for your FI review… yes, it's easy to get attached to OCs! I've come to adore Rasaras, and I have an almost maternal desire to protect him from anything, so don't expect to see _his_ death scene anytime soon. No, I don't think Dr. Glorfindel is going to start practicing medicine… though the mental picture of him in a lab coat is interesting. As for killing off Erestor… did I mention that this story is AU? ;) And I have to direct your grammarian's comments to my beta, who is and always will be the very best of betas. Yes, **Erestor**I mean you! ;) Thank you so much, and I'm glad that you like this story!

**Lutris**: Thank you! To me, a lot of writing is just intended to capture feelings, so I'm glad that you enjoyed that!

**Rhys**: Wow, a review for "The Endless Sun"! It's good to think that people still enjoy that one, even if it's months old! I'm honored that you think it's so good! Thank you so much for your review!

**Mithrilside**: Oh, yes, they think it will all be fine… aren't _they_ wrong! Yes, Glorfindel can be annoying, but I think he's great, too. :) Will Erestor's suffering ever end? Thank you so much for your review!

**Ice Ember**: Yes, Middle-earth isn't the same without the Elves… but at least they'll be happy in Valinor, right? Pippin still has Merry, and eventually he'll have a wife and son, so he still has reason for joy. :) Thank you so much for reviewing!

**my-fool-of-a-took**: Thank you so much! I was trying to paint a bittersweet picture, and I'm glad you liked it!

**Athena Diagon Cat**: LOL, are you so sure that Erestor will end up all right? ;) Thanks for your review!

**Erestor**: Okay, _how _am I supposed to reply to this review! I can't sum it all up… you are incredible, my friend. You are simply incredible. That's all I can say. I can't even try to start thanking you.

**kingmaker**: Wow, what an honor! I never thought about comparing my fics to St. Augustine… but I'm flattered that you have! I don't think my work would even _begin _to compare. I'm glad that you liked the sentence structure… that was the reason that I wasn't so sure about "Scarlet Leaves," because it didn't _sound_ the same. I consoled myself by remembering that Pippin had changed over the Quest, and even though his parents still treated him like a young hobbit, he really wasn't one anymore. I love that t-shirt idea! I can't imagine that Erestor would find it fun to go knock his head on a few ceilings… he's going to find peace, not bruises! ;) I'm glad you thought it was worthy of "Afternoon Tea"! And you went all the way back to "Snowballs"! Wow! That piece was a lot of fun to write… Erestor is a fun character to "get into." Thank you so much for all of your reviews!

_**Coming Soon**: Chapter Eleven: Waiting_


	11. Waiting

_**Chapter Eleven: Waiting**_

****

It was a beautiful morning in Imladris. The blizzard had ended about an hour before dawn, and the sunrise gave off a soft pink glow that made the drifts sparkle with light. Normally, such a morning would have been cause for gladness. Children would have bounded outside, intent on playing in one of the largest snowfalls Imladris had ever seen, and adults would have treasured the sight of such a pure morning. Joy and celebration would have reached an almost Wood-Elven high.

It was not to be. Not this morning.

Instead of joy, there was a tangible aura of grief over the valley. Rumors spread quickly, and now almost everyone was aware of the horrifying news. Captain Belegon Taurvagorion, Malchathol Thorvelion, and Arandur Nárildion had died. Rasaras Eltatharion had been forced to show courage beyond his years and was injured. Lord Glorfindel Alkamacarion had shouldered a responsibility no one had asked him to bear and was now something close to a nervous wreck. Erestor Caranárion lay unconscious in a small healing chamber and was, for all intents and purposes, slowly but surely dying.

Glorfindel pushed the food on his plate around with his fork, staring at it without really seeing it. He was only in the dining hall because Elrond had kicked him out of Erestor's chamber. In body, Glorfindel had reluctantly obeyed and was now trying to eat breakfast, but his mind refused to leave the chamber where the green-robed healers were doing everything they could to fight for Erestor's life.

As strange as it was, Glorfindel missed the advisor's presence. At first he had scoffed at the idea, but the longer he sat in the dining hall, the more he realized it was true. He missed Erestor. There was something refreshingly different about the dark-haired Elf, whether it was his firm refusal to stoop to blind hero-worship or his acerbic personality. Even when the advisor had been only on step away from verbally dismembering him, at least he had been there. Then they had argued, flinging insults and accusations at one another in a childish manner that seemed even more petty when it was compared to the real battle that followed it. The Erestor that had emerged from the conflict seemed vastly different—more vulnerable, perhaps. And on the way home, even after Erestor had lost consciousness and not given Glorfindel a speck of attention, he had remained Glorfindel's sole focus. Now, as Glorfindel sat alone in the dining hall, he missed him.

With a sigh of disgust, he laid down his fork and pushed back his chair. The pretense was pointless. He was not fooling anyone by pretending that everything was perfectly normal again. _Nothing_ was back to normal.

He left the dining hall and headed for the healing halls. Even if Elrond would not let him back in the small room, perhaps he could at least get an idea of Erestor's condition from the many healers that entered and exited the chamber.

He was so focused on his goal that he almost missed the sweet noise that echoed in the empty hallway. It was the sound of a harp, playing music that was as sad as it was beautiful. A quick glance into what he thought was an unused chamber nearby confirmed Glorfindel's suspicions as to the identity of the harpist. Lindir sat on a small bench, the harp in his lap, eyes closed as he poured his heart into his music. It seemed to be another of his improvised melodies, and Glorfindel stood spellbound in the doorway as the music flowed from the quick fingers. Lindir ended the piece on a chord that seemed to hang in the air between them.

"Is it true, Glorfindel?" asked Lindir, not even looking up.

Glorfindel cleared his throat and entered the small chamber. "Is what true?"

"What my father said." Lindir shifted on the bench to make room for Glorfindel to sit down beside him. "He said that Master Erestor is going to die. Is it true?"

Glorfindel froze. He could not simply tell the boy _no_, since everyone considered it to be such a likely possibility, but at the same time he was not about to say _yes_. "I don't know," he finally said. It was an honest answer.

Lindir looked down at the instrument in his lap, running one finger over the gold design inlaid in the dark wood. His eyes were deep with thought. "Father says that even if Lord Elrond _can_ heal him, he will probably die because all his friends are dead." He tore his gaze from the harp and looked up at Glorfindel with troubled eyes. "I don't want him to die."

Glorfindel picked up the harp and set it aside, then put an arm around Lindir's shoulders. "Not all of his friends are dead," he said in what he hoped was a cheerful voice. "He still has you and me, doesn't he?"

A flicker of hope appeared in the harpist's silver-blue eyes. "Are you Master Erestor's friend too?"

"Yes." Glorfindel smiled. It was the truth. Even if it was only a one-sided friendship, he could no longer deny that it was there. He only hoped that Erestor could be convinced of that fact. "Yes, of course I am."

* * *

The halls of healing in Imladris were usually places of serenity, only rarely interrupted by the mad scramble that heralded a bloody battle for life. This was especially true if the room held a recovering patient, one that was not too seriously wounded to begin with. From the merry crackle of the small fire on the hearth, to the delicate beauty of the frost on the windowpane, Rasaras's room was one that should have been extraordinarily peaceful.

At the moment, however, it was anything but that.

Eltathar's back was to Rasaras as the elder Elf stood between his son and Lord Elrond. "My lord, I understand what you say, but I must also tell you that my wife Aranna was very upset by the message. She fears the worst, and if I return without Rasaras, then her fears will only be compounded. I must leave tomorrow, and I wish to take my son with me. We need him home with us."

Rasaras gazed at his father with a mixture of confusion and awe. Was this truly the same Eltathar that had taught him to obey without question? The same Eltathar that had assured him on numerous occasions that it was pointless to defy healers? The same Eltathar that had sternly ordered him to never, _ever,_ say anything that could even remotely be taken as disrespectful to Lord Elrond?

Lord Elrond sighed, closing his eyes in a gesture that seemed to come from agitation and extreme weariness. "Eltathar, I am neither threatening the well-being of your wife nor disregarding your love for Rasaras. I speak only out of concern for his health. Were he to attempt the trail back to your home now, he would risk damaging the arm further. The bone would have to be reset, delaying his recovery by quite some time. Not to mention that it would be very painful if it was jarred or rebroken."

Eltathar's fists clenched behind his back. "With all due respect, my lord, is there not some way that you can prevent that?"

"Yes. I can keep him here until the bone is sufficiently healed." Even to Rasaras, who did not know Lord Elrond well, it was obvious that the harried Elf-lord was quickly running out of patience.

Eltathar bristled. "I mean, can you put it in a cast, or something similar? That would protect it enough for travel, I would think. And we would ride very slowly."

Lord Elrond opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to decide that it was not worth the trouble to argue with Rasaras's protective father any longer. "Yes, I can do that," he said, his voice tight with irritation. "As long as both you and Rasaras are in agreement concerning the issue."

Eltathar turned. At first Rasaras expected that his father would glare at him, daring him to defy the unspoken order to agree. After all, if he spoke so sternly to _Lord Elrond_, how would he act towards family? But he was wrong. The Elf's face was stern when he turned, but as he gazed at his son, the lines of anger on his face seemed to disappear. "What do you think, Rasaras?" he asked. "After all, it _is_ your arm we are discussing, not mine. If you wish to stay, then say so."

Rasaras swallowed. He did not want to defy Lord Elrond's wishes, but he knew that a large part of the Elf-lord's frustration was due to Master Erestor's condition. The rumor had reached Rasaras's ears that the advisor was still in a comatose state, and would most likely die before the day was over, and undoubtedly Lord Elrond was still upset about the deaths of his captain and two formidable warriors. Of all the times to remain in the House of Elrond, this was not one of the best. If Rasaras went home, then he would no longer be his lord's concern. And after all, he missed his family. "I wish to go home," he finally said.

Lord Elrond nodded. "Very well." He glanced up at Eltathar. "If you would be so kind as to find my apprentice Nestorien, then I will set the arm now so that the cast can harden before you both leave."

Eltathar bowed, threw Rasaras a reassuring smile, and left the room.

Lord Elrond pulled a chair up to Rasaras's bedside and began to undo the splint. "The cast should remain on your arm for two weeks," he said. "After two weeks, return to these halls so that I can remove it and make sure that the bone has healed properly."

Rasaras searched the lord's face for any sign of disapproval. "Milord, I—I hope I did not offend you."

A genuinely startled look appeared on Lord Elrond's face. "Offend me? In what way?"

"By going against what you wanted."

A strained smile appeared on the Elf-lord's face. "I am not offended, Rasaras. We asked you what you wanted, and you answered." Then he chuckled. "And before you even ask: no, I am not angry with your father either. If I had a son, I would probably feel the same way. His impatience is only eagerness to make sure that you are safe."

Rasaras gave the Elf-lord a tentative smile. "Well… yes."

"Though I must tell you," said Lord Elrond in a more serious voice, "the condition of your arm is not the only reason I wished to keep you here longer." He paused in his work to look up at Rasaras. "The process of becoming a tried warrior is difficult, even for the most well-trained novices. In training, the fatigue and change are concentrated in the body, but when one faces battle for the first time, then healing is often most needed elsewhere. Do you remember why your father no longer takes up arms as a warrior?"

Rasaras cringed inwardly. Yes, he remembered it well, and had spent a long time since his return thinking about it. As much as he respected his father, he had often wondered how the older Elf could simply walk away from his duty. Now, after having seen for himself what real battles were like, he began to understand.

"Eltathar is no coward," continued Lord Elrond, resuming his work. "I am sure that you have heard stories about how brutally the Elves were overcome by Sauron's forces, but I can assure you that none of the stories can equal the true horror of that day. It was no simple retreat, Rasaras—it was a massacre."

Rasaras gave an involuntary shudder. He had certainly heard stories, some so gory that his father had sent him out of the room as a child when they were told, and they often seemed unrealistically grim. Surely no living being would do to the Elven warriors what the Orcs had done. But then, he reminded himself, he would hardly have believed that Númenóreans would do to the Elven traveling party what _they_ had done. And he had seen that with his own eyes.

"I say all this as an example," said Lord Elrond. "Your father, along with most of the warriors that survived that day, never completely healed from what happened. His decision—to put his skills to another purpose instead of letting them fade from disuse—is an admirable one. But I do not want to see what happened to Eltathar happen to you."

There was a knock at the door, and a young female healer brought in a tray full of supplies. She started to assist Lord Elrond, but then bowed her acquiescence when he motioned for her to leave instead. The Elf-lord waited until she left before continuing.

"Eltathar is a very strong-willed person, and when he returned, he insisted on going home to his wife, rather than staying here where I could help him to heal. Though her love—and your conception, I must add—helped him tremendously, the healing that he refused never fully took place. What you see now is a result of that decision. I caution you, Rasaras: do not make the same mistake that he did."

There was a long silence following Lord Elrond's words.

"So you think that I should stay?" Rasaras finally asked, as soon as he managed to pull one thought from the thousands that swarmed in his head like bees in a hive.

"I think that you should do the right thing," answered the Elf-lord. "Your father knows you better than I do, and perhaps he is right. Perhaps he is wrong. In the reckoning of our people, you are an adult, and you can make your own decisions. I believe that you already know what you _should_ do, regardless of which one of us you want to please."

Rasaras closed his eyes. He wanted to do the right thing, but why was it so hard to decide?

Finally he came to a decision. "I want to go home," he said, and then quickly added, "but I want to take my weapons with me, so that I can go back to guard duty once my arm is healed. I still want to be a warrior."

Lord Elrond raised a curious eyebrow. "And what has prompted this second decision?"

This was a question that Rasaras did not have to ponder. "Because the danger is still there. If anything, I want to be a warrior even more because of what happened. I don't want my family, or anyone else, to have to see that. If people like Morazôn are still out there, and I can see to it that they never have a chance to touch the Elves of Imladris, then I would be a fool to do otherwise."

The Elf-lord stood, having finished readying the arm for the cast, and looked down at Rasaras with a strange glint in his eyes. "Were I the High King Gil-galad," he said, "I would commend your bravery and say that you will become a great warrior one day." Then a smile broke over his face, as bright as the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "But since the High King is not here, but in Lindon, and I am only his herald, I will not say that. I will merely commend your bravery."

The informal delivery, as well as the impish nature of the smile on the dark-haired Elf's face, was enough to startle Rasaras out of his usual protocol. "What about the part about being a great warrior one day?" he asked, a smile picking up the corners of his mouth for the first time in quite a few days. "Will that just go unsaid?"

"It will," confirmed Lord Elrond with a smile that looked strangely proud. "Because I believe that you already are."

With that, the Lord of Imladris left the room to summon the apprentice healers who would make the cast, leaving a surprised and bewildered Rasaras behind.

* * *

Glorfindel shuffled his feet on the floor tiles. He had been sitting in this chair for over an hour. He had already taught Lindir another melody from Gondolin, visited both Rasaras and the families of the warriors who had died, helped Meretheryn and the other cooks in the kitchen, and done everything else he could think of.

Elrond still refused to let him into the healing chamber. It was extremely vexing, being only a few feet away from the door, and still knowing little more than he had known that morning. He had tried to get information from the various apprentices, but the only one that would tell him anything was a brusque Noldo named Mírhael. And, of course, he was maddeningly vague. The other apprentices only glared at him with annoyance.

He had only been able to actually see Erestor once, when an apprentice had paused while leaving the room to ask Elrond a question. Glorfindel, using the advantage of height that came from being a reincarnated Vanya of the early First Age, was able to see over her head and catch a quick glimpse of the pallid Elf in the corner.

Erestor's complexion was just as pale as before, but it matched with the pallor of the sheets and bandages and contrasted with the darkness of his hair in a way that made his face look almost chalk-white. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, but the motion was extremely slight. A large, thick blanket was laid over him, up to where his shoulder was still swathed in bandages, so Glorfindel assumed that the cold was still troubling him.

Glorfindel fidgeted as he sat, shifting in his seat and tracing the pattern in the upholstery of the chair. Oh, if only Elrond would just open the door and let him see for himself how Erestor fared! He began to tap his fingers on the armrest, an impatient gesture that had always irritated his father to no end. _"Stop squirming like a fish on the beach!"_ the older Vanya would say, infusing his voice with the same affectionate authority that he used to command the small group of Vanyar that followed him across the Helcaraxë with Fingolfin's men. _"Sit still, and at least _pretend_ that you know how to be patient!"_ And then Glorfindel would grin, tap his fingers one more time, and be still. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

Suddenly a cry came from inside Erestor's room. It sounded like one of the female apprentices. Whether it was a cry of joy, or one of horror, Glorfindel could not tell. All it said was that something had happened.

Glorfindel could take it no more. He stood and ran to the door, ignoring the thought in the back of his mind that Elrond would not be happy to see him again. More clamor arose from inside the room. Abandoning all sense of self-preservation, Glorfindel grabbed the doorknob, threw the door open, and rushed into the room.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

**Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!**

**kenzimone**: Late nights and suffering Elves are enough to mess up anyone's mind (I mean, hey, look at me!) and so I completely understand. I'm not making any promises about Erestor. Is this update quick enough? ;) Thank you for your review!

**Avalon Estel**: Thank you! Yes, I feel sorry for Rasaras too. (hugs him) And I'm so glad that you like Eltathar! He in particular has grown on me during this chapter, and I'm glad that he has fans. And don't pick on Glorfindel too much… after all, it's all perspective, and Erestor _was_ being pretty mean. (offers Glorfindel an ice pack) Yes, I can see what you mean about Celegorm. I just feel sorry for fair ones (such as Tyelko) gone bad, and Lúthien annoyed me sometimes. And as for this chapter, I'm locking the door so that your mad Glorfindel doesn't come after me… ;)

**Ellfine**: Glad you enjoyed it! Yes, Glorfindel has come to a few realizations, though Erestor is unconscious and completely unaware of that little fact. That could be troublesome… yes, poor them! Thank you so much for your review!

**LOTRFaith**: I hope that this is soon enough! Thanks for being patient with me. I do feel sorry for Rasaras, and after I wrote that section I had to take a few minutes and calm myself back down. I like that quote! Thank you so much for your review!

**Erestor**: Glad you like it. It's my personal favorite so far, other than perhaps this one, but that's because I like the cliffhanger at the end. :D I'm glad that you like Rasaras… he's really come to be my favorite original character in this story. I'm glad you liked Glorfindel's thoughts, as well… they're good for me to write, because they help _me_ to understand everything and learn how it's all coming together. Glorfindel is just so wonderful. I hope for more inspiration as well! Thank you so much for your review!

**EmySumei**: Yes, they finally made it home. I'm glad you liked that part! And I understand about Mírhael/Michael… I didn't realize how close the names were until I had already named the character! Thanks for your review!

**tineryn**: Thank you! I can't help sympathizing with the Fëanorians… they were people, under all the hatred and misery and bloodshed. I'm a diehard Maglor fan too, and I can only imagine how horrible it would be to be the last of his family. His punishment was far worse than that of his brothers, in my opinion.

**Ellie in ElfPajamas**: I'm glad you liked it! Fear not for Erestor… if all else fails, then he'll eventually be happy in Valinor, right? ;) Thank you so much!

**seeing-spots**: Thank you! Yes, I feel sorry for Glorfindel, too… nothing is quite like the shock you get when you realized that you completely misjudged a person, for better or for worse. In Glorfindel's case, I think it would be "worse"! I can't wait for your Grinding Ice story… I want to hear the Elves:)

**BanbieBunny**: Wow, glad you liked "Snowballs"… take time to breathe! ;) I'm glad that you like FI so far… and I understand completely about siblings taking over the computer! Thank you for your reviews!

**Erulasse**: Thank you! No, I've never heard of Joyce Grenfeld, but I'll take a compliment any day! ;) I'll probably experiment with that format again in the future, since it's so much fun to climb into characters' heads (especially Erestor!). You're very welcome!

**S. Eerandgel**: Thank you so much for your reviews! I wondered what Merry and Pippin (especially Pippin!) did while they were there, and I wanted to show how drastically their Hobbit-culture clashed with Elf-culture, and how in the end they weren't all that different after all. And I couldn't resist sticking Pippin with Erestor. Yes, when the bunnies come, they bite _hard_ and they don't let go! Thank you so much!

**Svadilfari**: Thanks for checking it out! _Traditional Recipes_ is one of the reasons that this story waits so long between updates. I have to say that I don't have firsthand experience with Rasaras's plight either. I just tried to imagine how I would feel if I were placed in that kind of a situation, and then I climbed into Rasaras's head and tried to see it from his eyes. I feel so sorry for him… I mean, he's my character, and I love him dearly. I'm glad you like his name! That's actually the reason he survived the Númenórean attack in the first place. You see, I had planned to have all four of the accompanying warriors die, but I decided that I liked the name "Rasaras" too much to just kill off its bearer like that, so I decided to let him live. And then when I wrote the scene itself, I was extremely glad that I had decided to let him live, and I felt awful for having to let Belegon, Malchathol, and Arandur die. And yes, I'm afraid that that quote does indeed apply. Thank you!

_**Coming Soon: **Chapter Twelve: Moving On_


	12. Moving On

**_Chapter Twelve: Moving On_**

The voices. They refused to go away.

Erestor had been hearing the voices for days. Ever since Glorfindel had given him all those doses of the herbal remedy, he had been having odd dreams and hallucinations, mostly consisting of faces and voices that he remembered from the past. His brother's angry face when Erestor misbehaved as a child. His mother's shocked cry when she heard that her husband had died. His sister's world-weary expression when she told him that she was leaving for Valinor. Glorfindel's irate glare during their argument. The shock on Belegon's face as Morazôn grabbed him from behind with a knife in his hand…

The faces were always horrifying, but it was the voices that bothered him the most.

Erestor had learned how to deal with the faces. All he had to do was close his eyes to them and think of other things, and the faces would leave him alone. It was the voices that he could not escape. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, they echoed around him. Most called his name, but some just screamed in wordless horror. Erestor could not block out the voices.

It was like living in a nightmare for days.

He knew that nothing that he saw or heard was real, but that did little to help him. The voices were so realistic. And unlike what happened in a nightmare, Erestor was unable to wake himself up. He was frightened—no, he corrected himself, not frightened. Terrified.

Suddenly one voice seemed to shatter through the others.

_Erestor_, it said. _Hear me. Hear my voice._

Erestor could not answer the voice, because he was unable to speak, but he listened intently. There was something different about this voice.

_Come back to the light._

Light? There was no light that Erestor could see. He feared that if there _was_ light, then it would be streaming from the entryway to the Halls of Mandos; now that he thought about it seriously, he did not really want to die. There was still work to be done, duty to be accomplished. And if what Glorfindel had said was true, then Mandos would hardly be happy to see him.

_Do not drown yourself in grief_, the voice continued. _Come back to us_.

The more Erestor concentrated on this voice, the more he noticed that the other voices seemed to lose volume. They began to fade. Elated, Erestor bent all his concentration on that one voice, listening to it with every fiber of his being. There was something familiar about it.

_Erestor_, it said, speaking his name so differently than the other voices. _Come back to us._

And then suddenly he was aware.

He was aware of many things… more than just voices. There were other sounds. A fire crackling. People breathing. A door opening, and hurried footsteps. He could feel hands on his face—one palm on each side. The hands felt so warm.

"Erestor?" There was the voice again—but this time he heard it with his own two ears, and not the dark senses of some nightmarish dream. He could not immediately place it, but it was extremely familiar. He ventured a guess…

"Glorfindel?" he asked, his voice faltering in his dry mouth. How long had it been since he had had a drink of water?

The hands on his face moved to check his pulse, but suddenly he was aware of a third hand, this one just barely touching his face, to judge his temperature.

"I'm right here, Erestor," said a voice different from the first. It was thick with relief. "Can you open your eyes?"

Erestor tried to swallow, but it seemed as if his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Water…"

The second voice—he could tell now that it was Glorfindel—laughed. "I'm your friend, not your servant," he said. But then Erestor felt the rim of a small cup pressed to his lips and someone holding up his head to keep him from choking. Whatever was in the cup had a bitter taste, but he was too thirsty to care.

"Slowly, now," said the first voice. Erestor's clearing mind was able to identify it as Lord Elrond.

Finally the empty cup was taken away, and a satisfied sigh escaped him as his head settled back into the soft pillow. So he was in the healing chambers. How had he come to be here? How long had he been unconscious?

"Can you open your eyes?" asked Lord Elrond, repeating Glorfindel's question from before. "The light is dim."

Even if Erestor had wanted to resist, he could not refuse Lord Elrond's voice. He had followed those gently spoken commands from darkness to light, and he would not stop now. He slowly opened his eyes, giving them time to adjust.

The room was indeed dimly lit. The only light came from the fire in the hearth and a brilliant sunset outside the window. There were faces as well as voices now—but these faces were hardly terrifying.

Lord Elrond smiled, relief and gladness twinkling in his deep silver eyes. "Welcome home," he said.

* * *

The soft snow made a crunching sound under Rasaras's booted feet. The entire valley was blanketed with it, creating a strange landscape in shades of pale gray, broken only by the sharp colors of the bare trees and evergreens. The birds were quiet, and the only sound was that of Rasaras and Eltathar stepping on the snow. They barely left footprints.

When they reached the top of the ridge, Rasaras stopped.

Ahead of him, Eltathar turned around, frowning. "Is there something wrong, Rasaras?" he asked, his voice thick with concern. "Is your arm bothering you?"

Rasaras shook his head. "No, it isn't that." He touched the limb. "It doesn't really hurt very much."

Eltathar tilted his head slightly to one side. "Then what is it?"

A slow smile found its way onto the young archer's face, and it gradually deepened to a grin. "I'm home. I'm really _home_." He gave a short laugh. He had waited so long to be home, _really_ home, and now that it was almost here, he could hardly believe it.

His father smiled as well, even though he still looked confused. "Well, you are that." He walked back to where Rasaras stood and put an arm around his shoulders, to lead him on. "Your mother is going to be very glad to see you. And Alphien will be too."

"Has she had her begetting-day party yet?"

Eltathar shook his head. "We had planned it for tomorrow, but if you would rather have peace and quiet, then I think that we could postpone…"

"Oh, no, don't do that," said Rasaras, shaking his head vigorously. "If I had wanted peace and quiet, I would have stayed with Lord Elrond."

"Very well." Then Eltathar smiled. "She will be glad to know that you can be at her party after all."

"Well, I'm glad that _someone_ is better off after all this," said Rasaras darkly. He shuddered as he remembered the pale, drawn face of Malchathol's wife. She had come to talk to him, as if he could help her make sense of what had happened to her husband, but in the end he was not sure how much good he had been. All he had done was tell her how bravely Malchathol had died, sounding the alarm to warn them, and then sit and listen to her talk until Lord Elrond came to tell her that her daughter was waiting for her. Rasaras felt terrible for both her and Malchathol's daughter, but there was little he could do.

"It was not your fault," Eltathar said suddenly.

He glanced up at his father, startled. "What?"

Eltathar stepped over a half-buried branch that stuck out of the snow like a tattered flag. "What happened in the wilds. It was not your fault."

Rasaras sighed. "I know. Lord Elrond said the same thing, and Glorfindel too, when he came to see me."

The older Elf shot him a sideways glance. "Do you believe it?"

Rasaras watched a few flakes of fluffy snow drop from one of the branches of a tree. "I want to."

"Then believe it," said Eltathar firmly. "Do not overestimate yourself. I know that you are a skilled warrior, an _exceptionally_ skilled warrior, but you are neither Tulkas nor Ilúvatar. No one expected you to be able to single-handedly fight off every enemy that your group faced. You actually performed far better than anyone believed you could, and I have heard no end of praise of your skill." He stopped, touching Rasaras's shoulder to make him stop as well, and then he tilted Rasaras's chin upward so that they were looking eye to eye. "Do not blame yourself for events that you could neither prevent nor change," he said, his voice gentle and quiet. "You are one Elf, Rasaras. What has already happened cannot be undone, but you can still learn from it, and learn to look at it as you should."

Rasaras sighed, looking down at his father's hand. "I wish they had come back."

"So do I."

"I suppose…" Rasaras's voice trailed off. He shuffled his feet in the snow. "I just feel like a failure." He almost felt ashamed to admit it, but it was the truth. Ever since he had talked to Malchathol's wife, he had felt so guilty. He had returned; Malchathol had not. He should have done more. Perhaps if he had, then Malchathol and Arandur and Captain Belegon might have lived.

"Listen to me, Rasaras Eltatharion," said his father, the voice breaking through the dark thoughts like a sword. Rasaras glanced up, startled, to see that Eltathar's eyes were as hard as chips of stone, and they held a dangerous spark. "Do not _dare_ repeat that in my presence. No one, _no one_, will ever call my son a failure. You did _well_. You helped to defeat your enemy, and you were directly responsible for saving Master Erestor's life. You braved blizzards and wild animals to bring back your message, and now you are coming home, to rest and recover. You are not giving up your position as a warrior, and you are _not_ a failure."

Rasaras swallowed. "Captain Belegon—"

"—is dead, and he died bravely," interrupted Eltathar. "I am grateful to him for what he taught you, and for protecting you during the battle. I honor him as a fallen warrior. But do not blame yourself for his death, Rasaras. He was not your responsibility. None of them were."

There was a short silence while Rasaras attempted to collect his scattered thoughts. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

Eltathar sighed, a sad smile on his face. "I am not angry with you, my Rasaras. I just do not want to see you suffer when you do not have to." He sighed again, then put his arms around Rasaras, drawing him into a hug. "I love you. Nothing will ever change that. I have loved you since the night you were conceived, and you never fail to amaze me with what you have become." He held him for a few more minutes, then reluctantly drew back and gave Rasaras a genuine, if shaky, smile. "But your mother will have my head if we are late, so we had better hurry."

Rasaras nodded, attempting to massage away the twinge of pain in his arm, and they walked on toward the house.

When they reached the cottage, the door was thrown open before they could even knock, and Rasaras was instantly engulfed in his mother's embrace.

"Oh, Rasaras," Aranna breathed. "I was so worried when they said that you had been injured."

"It's only a broken arm, Nana," soothed Rasaras. "I had worse when I fell off my horse when I was learning to shoot from horseback, remember?"

She only shuddered and held him more tightly, then slowly let go. "It's good to have you home."

Rasaras smiled, and was about to say something, when suddenly there was a small cry from the hallway. He turned and saw Alphien running toward him, silver-blond curls bouncing in perfect time with her footsteps.

"Rassa!" she laughed, launching herself into his midsection. "You came!"

He couldn't help but laugh along with her, bending down so that she could hug him properly. "Hello, Allie."

She giggled into his ear. "I _knew_ you would be here for my begetting-day party. Did you bring me anything from Mithlond?"

Rasaras grimaced and shook his head. "Not this time, I'm afraid. We didn't go all the way to Mithlond."

She frowned, but then she suddenly brightened. "Did you see any deer?"

He smiled. Alphien loved deer, and would sometimes stay outside for hours at a time, hoping to see a buck or even a fawn. "As a matter of fact, I did," he said. "She came right up to me and sniffed at my arm."

Alphien's eyes grew wide. "Did she have a fawn with her?"

"Not in the wintertime. Maybe she will have one in the spring, though."

"Will you take me to see her in the spring, Rassa?" begged Alphien. "I want to see her fawn."

He chuckled. "We'll see."

Suddenly Eltathar cleared his throat. "Aranna," he said, loudly enough so that both Rasaras and Alphien paid attention, "is that fish and lemon butter sauce that I smell?"

Alphien let go of Rasaras and attached herself to her father with a little squeal. "I helped make it! Nana let me stir the sauce by myself!"

"Well done, little butterfly," said Eltathar. "Are you going to wash your hands so that you can come enjoy it with us?"

She turned and grabbed Rasaras's hand—the one that was not dangling from the cast—and tried to pull him down the hallway. "Hurry, Rassa! You have to wash your hands too!"

"I'm coming," he laughed. Yes, he was home.

As he followed Alphien down the hallway, he heard his mother talking to his father behind him.

"Is he _really_ going to be all right, Eltathar?" said Aranna, worry in her voice. "He looks so pale, and his face seems so much thinner than…"

Eltathar silenced her with a kiss. "He will be fine. I am sure of it."

And Rasaras could not help but agree with him.

* * *

Glorfindel looked out the window and sighed. He felt so frustrated.

Erestor was awake now; he was thankful for that. The advisor was not fully recovered yet, but Elrond seemed pleased with his progress, so it seemed safe to assume that he was finally out of danger. That was a good thing.

Glorfindel sighed again and turned around, back to the fire in the small room. If only Erestor was as glad as everyone else.

Despite his initial relief after awakening, Erestor's mood had rapidly descended into one that was absolutely abysmal. He had returned to the same state of maddeningly stoic silence that he had been in shortly before he had fallen unconscious, and no matter how cheerful or pleasant Glorfindel was to him, nothing could wipe the frown off his face.

At first Glorfindel had dismissed it as lingering grief for Belegon. Now he was convinced that Erestor was just sulking.

"You know, Glorfindel," said Erestor suddenly from the bed in the corner of the room, "you do not have to stay if you do not want to. I am fine on my own."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Maybe I want to stay."

Erestor turned back to the wall with an equally dismissive gesture. "Suit yourself."

Glorfindel closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. Yes, he pitied Erestor. Yes, he wanted to befriend him. Yes, he had spent a lot of time worrying for him, and his perspective had definitely changed. But the fact remained that it was a lot easier to get along with Erestor when the Elf was either sleeping or unconscious.

"The funeral is taking place later on today, you know," said Glorfindel, in an attempt to start a conversation.

That got Erestor's attention. "It is?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Elrond wanted to give the families a few days to mourn on their own before he held it."

Erestor was silent for a few minutes, and at first Glorfindel thought that he was not going to reply, but then he spoke. His voice was quieter than usual. "Lord Elrond would not let me attend, I think."

Glorfindel shrugged. "Perhaps he would. You cannot use crutches, because your broken ankle is on the same side as your hurt shoulder, but perhaps someone could…"

"No," Erestor interrupted. "He would not agree. Surely you can see that."

Glorfindel sighed. "You're probably right." Then a new thought struck him: had it been a close friend of _his_ that had died, and _he_ could not attend the funeral, then at least he would not want to be alone. "Do you want me to stay here?" he asked. "I don't mind."

Erestor shrugged the shoulder that was not bandaged. "I am fine by myself."

"Are you sure? I don't think that Elrond would mind if I…"

"Go to the funeral, Glorfindel." Erestor looked back at him, his face emotionless. "If for no other reason than to comfort the families. You can help them."

"Who will help _you_?" Glorfindel wanted to ask, but he kept silent. It was obvious from the look on Erestor's face that the subject was closed. He sighed.

"Very well, then." Glorfindel turned and left the room.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

**seeing-spots**: I'm so mean? Why, thank you! ;) I'm glad that you think this is progressing well… personally, I feel like I'm constantly scrambling to tie together storylines and keep everything together. I hope to see "Grinding Ice" soon! Thank you for your review!

**LOTRFaith**: Well, I don't do cliffhangers very often, but this chapter was just begging for one. Yes, Rasaras is finally beginning to understand, though he still has a ways to go. Here's your update! ;) Thank you for your review!

**EmySumei**: Ah, I wondered if someone would question this. Yes, Alkamacar and Caranár are out of my own imagination. I plan on expanding on them at some point, because they're full of possibilities, but for now they're just names. I'm glad that you liked Glorfindel and Elrond! Even though Erestor is my favorite, those two are tied for second place (with Maglor, of course). I think the Elves of Imladris are my favorites as a group… I like to think of them as the Last Hurrah of the Eldar, since everyone else is fading. Thanks for your review!

**kenzimone**: True, very true. There _is_ something hyper about Glorfindel! I like to think of him as being almost childlike at times—not necessarily _childish_—but full of that almost youthful innocence that most Elves lost at Cuivénen. And don't worry about my killing off Erestor… I'm not that evil! hugs Erestor And I'm glad that you like Rasaras! He's definitely very brave. Thank you for reviewing!

**Mithrilside**: Someone who likes cliffhangers! Finally! Everyone else seems to be angry at me; not sure why… ;) Thank you for your compliments, and for your review!

**Avalon Estel**: Evil? Me? (gives her an innocent face) Whatever do you mean, Avie? But yes, I'm glad that you liked Glorfindel's realizations, as late as they were in coming. And I'm so glad that you like Rasaras! He really is his own character… I'm sitting here trying to decide if there's any character or person that he reminds me of, and I really can't. I'm really proud of him. :) Gracious, something needs to be done about mad Glorfindel! Can't have him threatening the poor innocent authors… ;) Thanks for reviewing!

**BanbieBunny**: Wow, I'm glad that you liked it! Yes, I definitely understand what it's like to feel under the weather. You have my sympathies, and I hope you're feeling better now! (You probably are, since it's taken me so long to update, but it really couldn't be helped…) Thank you so much!

**kingmaker**: I'm glad that you like this story! It's probably the longest one I've ever written (and I'm close to finishing it, which is a feat in and of itself… I'm notorious for starting things and then losing interest in them! But don't worry, this one will be finished.) This story is actually completely separate from Traditional Recipes… Lindir's age is different, for one thing. But the characters are definitely themselves. Yes, I know that some parts of it are _very_ predictable… after all, isn't it said that there are really only five plots, or something like that? But I wanted the story to be as much about the characters and their interactions as it was about what happened. I didn't think it would make sense to have the Orcs attack them, because I wasn't exactly sure where the Orcs were lurking at this point, but I knew that there were some Númenóreans who weren't exactly friendly with the Elves, so I decided to use them. And I'm also glad that you liked "The Endless Sun"! It's not my favorite, but I'm glad that you enjoyed it. Images are fun. And as for "Fallen to Ashes"… that's one of my first forages into serious Fëanorian angst, and I can tell you for sure that you can look for more Maglor in the future. And I'm glad that you liked the way that it was written… when I wrote that piece, it was almost stream-of-consciousness, and I didn't revise it as heavily as I have some. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews!

**Neige**: Oh, thank you… now I have "Tea and Sympathy" by Jars of Clay running through my head! ;) Well, there you have an example of my dual nature… I decided to experiment with the fine art of dangling readers over cliffs, but I wasn't so mean as to not wish them a happy holiday. As for Erestor dying… he's my favorite character and I love him dearly, so I don't think I'll kill him off now. hugs Erestor Really, I'm not that cruel! I've actually never had a broken arm, so I'm in the dark as to what it's like. I do imagine that it wouldn't be fun, though! Thank you for your review!

**French Pony**: Wow, thank you! There's always a little moment of shock when one of the authors you most admire reviews your stories! Yes, what I wanted to concentrate on most of all in that story was that even though Maglor and Celegorm were corrupted kinslayers, they were still Elves and they still loved their brothers. Thank you for your review!

**Lombadia Greenleaf**: Thank you! Yes, that search engine can be frustrating. I find it easier to navigate by guessing who is on whose favorite story list, and checking to see if someone reviewed something… following links instead of that crazy search engine! And I'm glad that you like "Traditional Recipes" as well! Thanks for your review!

**Golden Elf**: Wow, thanks! Yes, Glorfindel and Elrond definitely have senses of humor.

**Ramarama**: French? Oh, I can't imagine… I took Spanish, so I left off at past tense. I'm glad you like this! I can't imagine that Glorfindel and Erestor would have been friends right away, since they're so different, but eventually they'll work out their differences. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Noldo**: Ah, no worries. I understand completely about school taking over! That's one of the reasons that this one is taking so long to update. When I'm not working on this story, _Traditional Recipes_, or my drabbles, then I'm probably doing homework or studying. I'm glad that you like Elrond's impish grin! There's a mischievous Elfling hidden somewhere beneath that impressive-lord-and-healer demeanor; I just know it. And I'm glad that you liked the cliffhanger! It was so much fun to write… ;) I'm glad you couldn't threaten me! You're right about the fact that I'm a girl, and I'm from the US, so there definitely is the issue of the Atlantic. My physical description is about as common as it is boring: shortish, dark hair, pale. Like a million fangirls, except that I'm not one. And because you were so polite with your "please," I give you… an update! ;) Thank you!

**Mewissa**: Wow, what high praise! I'm so glad that you like this story. Your shameless begging has paid off, I'm happy to say, so here you go. I hope you enjoy this! Thank you so much for your review!


	13. Letting Go

_**Chapter Thirteen: Letting Go**_

_**

* * *

**_

The healers had left the window open.

Erestor sighed. The funeral was going on outside, and with the shades on the window pulled back, he could hear the laments quite clearly.

Too clearly, in fact.

He closed his eyes as another clear voice rose above the solemn flutes. The Quenya seemed to simply float on the air. Erestor tried not to listen to the words, but even the tone was rife with sadness.

He turned away from the window, facing the wall, but he could still hear the songs. They were singing for the fallen warriors. They were singing for Belegon.

His throat tightened. It was not as if he had never lost a friend before. That was, unfortunately, something that had happened to him more than once. But he had never been there, he had never seen the gloating face of his friend's murderer, he had never seen…

He swallowed. If he was grateful to Glorfindel for only one thing, it was that he had never let him see Belegon after the captain had died. The Vanya had made sure that Erestor's view of the fallen Elves was blocked, and that by the time he woke up again, they were far away from the slaughter. It was a small gesture, really, but Erestor was very grateful for it. Perhaps Glorfindel___had_ changed

Another voice rose, this one in harmony with the first. They were singing in Sindarin now. It was impossible not to listen.

Erestor clutched the blanket that had been laid over him. This was why he had not wanted to attend the funeral, why he had insisted on being left to himself… it was just too much…

The lament gained strength as the assembled mourners and bereaved families joined in.

He shut his eyes more tightly. He could not ignore it. The song was there, the grief of the mourners was there, and the realization that Belegon and the others had left Middle-earth forever was there as well. The facts were in front of him, as cold and hard and clear and sharp as the icicles dangling from the roof.

The warmth of the fire seemed to die in the room. He could not run from the truth of it any longer.

He was cold, hurting, and utterly alone.

* * *

The funeral was to Glorfindel what funerals always were: a mixture of melancholy and despair and hope. Hope for the dead, despair from the family, and melancholy from everyone in attendance. If there was one thing that Glorfindel would never be able to reconcile himself with, it was melancholy. It made no sense to him. 

The other thing that jarred him was Erestor's conspicuous absence. He had known that the advisor would not attend, since he had all but demanded to be left alone in his room, but he still had a sinking feeling when the laments began without the dark-haired Elf. It didn't seem right. Erestor should be here.

Elrond leaned over and asked why Erestor was not present. He kept his voice quiet, so as not to disturb the mourners.

Glorfindel told him everything that Erestor had said, finishing with "and the healers told me that Erestor asked them to stay out of his room unless it was absolutely necessary."

Elrond's face remained neutral, and all he said was, "Hmm."

That one word told Glorfindel everything he wanted to know. He unobtrusively edged his way to the back of the crowd and left. It ___wasn't _right.

The main house was silent, since almost everyone was outside at the funeral. Annoyance edged into Glorfindel's mind as he walked the halls, heading for Erestor's room in the healing halls. The Elf _was_ just sulking. Glorfindel had done everything in his power to help him, to reach out to him, but there was never a favorable response. And it seemed that everyone else who had been to see him—though, admittedly, there were not many—had said the same thing.

It was time to put an end to that, once and for all.

There were a few healers milling around the halls, but no one seemed to object to Glorfindel's presence. He smiled at the few that noticed him, but did not stop to converse as he made his way to Erestor's room.

He stopped at the familiar door, but just as he was reaching for the handle, he paused. Perhaps he was being insensitive. After all, Erestor _had_ just lost his best friend, and though that had been days ago, Erestor had been unconscious for most of that time. To him, it was still a painfully recent event.

Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. Hesitation would not help anyone. He pushed open the door.

The first thing that he noticed was the open window. A light breeze blew in, cool with the scent of freshly fallen snow. Icicles caught the amber glow of the sunset, sparkling like flecks of topaz along the roof's edge. The haunting laments echoed in the room, but they were the only noise that pierced the stillness.

Then he realized that there was another noise after all. It sounded like… shivering.

Glorfindel mentally kicked himself. What was he thinking? Erestor was still unwell, and it would hardly be right to confront him when he was already weak. But then, he had been sure that Elrond had remedied Erestor's sensitivity to cold. Was he relapsing?

He walked to the corner of the room, where Erestor was still lying on the bed. As Glorfindel had expected, the Elf had drawn the blanket tightly around himself. His face was practically buried in the soft pillow, his back to the rest of the room.

Glorfindel sighed and bent to touch Erestor's face, the only part of him that was not covered with bandages or blankets. If the skin was cold, he would close the window, add another log to the fire, and summon one of the healers outside.

He was startled when his fingertips brushed Erestor's face. It was not cold at all… it was actually slightly warm. And it was wet. Glorfindel drew back his hand.

Erestor wasn't shivering. He was crying.

Glorfindel sat down on the edge of the mattress, rendered speechless for one of the first times in his existence. This was _not_ what he had been expecting. He had thought to find a combative Erestor, perhaps, or even a morose Erestor. But not this. This required an entirely different method of handling.

He swallowed and touched Erestor's shoulder lightly, avoiding the bandages. "Erestor? Are you all right?"

Erestor did not answer, but neither did he try to shrug off Glorfindel's hand.

Glorfindel kicked off his light shoes and then rearranged himself more comfortably, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin. He was unsure of how to go about helping Erestor. It was not as if anything he had tried in the past ever worked.

"Why are you here?"

The words were so quietly spoken, and so unexpected, that for a moment Glorfindel was not sure that he had heard them. "Pardon me?" he asked.

Erestor turned to face him, self-consciously wiping at his face with his sleeve. His skin was flushed, and there were telltale red rims around his eyes. He did not meet Glorfindel's gaze. "Why are you here? I thought that you were going to the funeral."

Glorfindel shrugged. "The dead do not need me."

"What about their families? Their friends?"

Glorfindel waited until Erestor looked up at him before answering. "You tell me," he said, staring into Erestor's blue eyes, startled at the naked grief and dark shadows that he saw. "What about Belegon's friend?"

Erestor broke eye contact. "I need no one," he mumbled. "Please leave me alone."

Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it. This was exactly what Erestor had done every other time: he would come so close to coming out of his shell, but then he would shut himself up like a door slamming in Glorfindel's face. It frustrated Glorfindel to no end, but perhaps that meant that it was time for a new strategy. They were here, they were alone, and the funeral still had an hour or so to go.

Another lament began outside. Glorfindel listened to the flowing words, then realized that this one was specifically for the fallen captain. It spoke of his courage, and bravery in defending his men, and of the honor that he would receive in the Halls of Mandos.

Glorfindel glanced down at Erestor and saw that the Elf had closed his eyes tightly, and that tears were gathering around his eyelashes. He felt a stab of compassion for the advisor… after all, Belegon had been his friend, probably the only real one he had in Imladris.

Without warning, his thoughts flew back to his own stay in the Halls of Mandos. There were many things about that time that he had trouble remembering clearly, but there was one thing that he remembered as clearly as if it had just happened: the time he had spent with Nienna. She had taught him about the danger of grief without release, of holding on to sorrow without letting go. She had held him, as she did all who came to the Halls, and let him weep into her soft blue gown. She had cried with him.

Glorfindel reached again for Erestor's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "I miss him too, Erestor," he said.

It was as if he had finally chipped away the last fragment of Erestor's reserve. The dark-haired Elf turned away with a jerk, making a little choked sound as the sob caught in his throat. He brought a shielding hand up to his face and curled up as much as he could in the blanket, his back to Glorfindel, weeping.

Glorfindel was torn between pity and relief. Pity because Erestor was so upset, and relief because he was finally letting it out. It was like breaking the dam of a swollen river.

"It's all right," he murmured, reaching forward to rub Erestor's back in a circular pattern. "There is no shame in mourning. Let it go."

Erestor did not answer. His whole body was trembling. He hardly made any sound, but his breathing was ragged and forced, as if the sobs were being torn from him.

The lament for Belegon outside ended as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Elrond began to speak, and Glorfindel reached over and closed the window so that Erestor would not be interrupted.

After a while, Erestor's weeping began to subside. He remained in the curled position, but the tension in his back seemed to ease.

Glorfindel reached into the pocket of his robe and fished around until he found a handkerchief. He held it out to Erestor. "Here, take this."

Erestor turned back around, maneuvering himself to sit against the back wall. He accepted the handkerchief with mumbled gratitude and began to wipe at the tears on his flushed face. He folded the handkerchief neatly and handed it back to Glorfindel. "Thank you."

Glorfindel gave him a kind smile. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes." Erestor stared at his hands, still taking deep breaths. He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he said.

The older Elf frowned. "For what?"

Erestor fidgeted with the folds of the blanket. "Everything."

Glorfindel took a deep breath and then turned on the mattress so that he was directly facing Erestor. "That reminds me," he said. "While you were unconscious, I had a lot of time to think, and I have come to…"

"Wait," interrupted Erestor, closing his eyes. "Before you say anything, Lord Glorfindel, please let me finish.There is no excuse for anything I said or did, or for the way I treated you.I acted shamefully, and I beg your forgiveness, though I do not merit it in the least."

Glorfindel had paused mid-sentence, but now he shut his mouth with a decisive___ snap_. Leave it to Erestor to interrupt his planned apology and make him forget everything he had been meaning to say.

He sighed. "Erestor…"

The advisor gazed at him, a look on his face half of pleading and half of dread. "Yes?"

Glorfindel paused. This was his chance to apologize. Erestor would listen now, if he ever would. But suddenly the planned apology sounded too stiff and formal. He would have to just be honest, with both Erestor and himself.

"I think that we started wrong from the beginning," he said, looking Erestor in the eyes. "We both made mistakes. You said things that you shouldn't have said, and so did I. Neither of us is blameless.

"I don't want to be your enemy, Erestor." He gestured to the window, as if pointing to the cave where the battle had taken place. "There are enough servants of the Shadow in this world to be my enemies, and I do not need to make any more for myself here at home. I misjudged you from the beginning, but I see my mistake now and I want to make it right." He sighed. "Can we simply start over as friends?"

Erestor blinked. "You would do that?"

Glorfindel gave a wry smile. "I would rather be your friend than your enemy. You are very good at pushing me into snowdrifts, but since you have a bandaged shoulder and a broken ankle, I think I have an unfair advantage at the moment."

The dark-haired Elf reached up to touch the bandage. "You always have the advantage, I think," he said.

"Regardless of that," said Glorfindel, waving a dismissive hand, "I would like to simply call a truce." He reached forward, offering Erestor his hand. "Friends?"

Erestor looked at the hand, then at the Elf, and slowly the shadow began to fade from his eyes. He gave a small smile and reached forward to shake Glorfindel's hand. "Very well."

Glorfindel grasped Erestor's hand and then pulled him forward into a hug. Erestor went rigid with surprise, and then tentatively returned it. When he pulled back, Glorfindel was grinning.

And slowly, timidly, like the stars opening in the night sky, Erestor began to smile too.

_******

* * *

**_

******Author's Notes**

******seeing-spots**: Wow, that happened to you? Definitely scary. I felt sorry for Erestor while I was writing that part, and he wasn't the only one relieved when he woke up… the author was too! I hope Grinding Ice is coming along well. Thank you for reviewing!

******ellfine**: Thank you! I'm glad that you like Rasaras… I love him too. Eltathar does what he can. Glorfindel has come to a realization… belated, perhaps, but at last he has. Thank you again for reviewing!

******Avalon Estel**: Aw, poor Glor. (gets him out of the straightjacket) Run along and behave. Yes, it's not a good idea to try to play doctor when you don't really know what you're doing… I think Glorfindel learned his lesson. I'm glad that you liked the chapter! It's great to know that. Crying isn't stupid. I'm really glad that you like Eltathar! He's one of my favorites… along with all of the other characters, of course. (blushes) And don't be so hard on Erestor… while everyone else had a chance to recover, he was unconscious, and that wasn't exactly recovery time. He misses his best friend. He'll be all right, though. :) Yes, fine, I'll update sooner. ;) Thank you for reviewing!

******Golden Elf**: Erestor does need someone. He tries to push people away, but in the end he's going to have to accept the fact that he can't be an island. Glorfindel is certainly capable in pulling people out of despair. Thank you so much for your review!

******kingmaker: **Thank you! I was a little worried that I would go overboard in making Erestor a sympathetic character—since he's my favorite character, I often tend to be a little fangirly when I write him. I'm glad that you like Rasaras… he's been a challenge, since he's a completely original character, but he's a joy to write. And I really appreciate what you said about character drama… I worry sometimes about what people will think of these kinds of scenes, since there's very little action, but lots of character drama. I'm glad you think that I've come to a happy medium. :) Thank you!

******Frodo's sister**: Thank you very much! ___Afternoon Tea_ is one of my shortest pieces, but at the same time one of my favorites. Erestor and Pippin are such opposites that they have very interesting conversations. :)

******LOTRFaith**: Those Author Alerts are tricky. Believe me, I sympathize! Yes, Rasaras is home, but there is still more healing for him. And I agree about one of Erestor's flaws being that he feels too much. According to my history for Erestor (which is till in the planning stage), he's still a relatively young Elf at this point (about 350-400-ish). And that is a rather sad thought. :( Thank you for your review!

******kenzimone**: Well, I aim to please! ;) Yes, that is a rather ironic thought, but Elrond isn't always like that. Rasaras's family is glad to see them, and that can be a bit—overwhelming. Glorfindel is exactly what Erestor needs in a friend, whether Erestor wants to admit it or not. Their resolution will come. Thank you for reviewing!

******Noldo**: You're very mean. Threatening your poor school-friends with no math help is truly cruel… ;) You would probably have a hard time finding me even if you did know where I live. I'm a very ordinary person, except for fanfiction. Blink and you'd miss me. I'm glad that you like the Rasaras parts! He isn't in this chapter, I'm sorry to say, but he'll be in the next one. I feel sorry for Erestor as well… I've never lost anyone close to me, or been to a funeral for someone that I cared about, so it's hard for me to identify. I'm glad that you liked that line… I snickered myself when I wrote it. Thank you for your review!

******EmySumei**: Erestor can get sulky… another one of his flaws, unfortunately. Glorfindel will be good for him, once he quits being so stubborn. I agree, the fault lies with the humans. I definitely agree that Imladris was the best Elven realm in the Third Age! Now, if we start comparing Imladris to Gondolin, or Doriath, or Eregion… but no, Imladris is the best during its time. And Galadriel should be careful about her mind probes… knowledge is a dangerous thing. Thank you for reviewing!

******BanbieBunny**: Sorry it took so long to update! Real life, unfortunately, has been awful lately. At least it hasn't been too long… right? Don't answer that question…. ;) I don't blame you for sympathizing with Erestor. I love him myself. I don't think he'll be offended if you pity him. Thank you for your review!

******Ramarama**: That's pretty much it. Erestor does need a hug. But I'm sure that Glorfindel can help him. Sorry about the chapter length… I keep them to about two-and-a-half thousand words per chapter, but that doesn't seem like much to a reader… only the author. Thank you for reviewing!

******Coolio02**: Thank you so much! Is this update quick enough? ;)

******SilverWolf7**: Hmph. I got your review, read it, and thought "NO! She guessed my plot!" Yes, it pretty much all happened like you said (other than the slapping part). I had already written most of it before I got your review. Am I really that predictable? (sigh.) That dream does sound strange! Thank you for your review! (And how is Lost coming along…?) ;)

******Erestor**: Thank you! I had been more than a little worried about Erestor's "wake-up" scene, so I'm glad that I finally managed to pull it off. Erestor-Glorfindel interaction has to be one of my favorite things about writing this story… Rasaras is wonderful, Allie is cute, Lindir is endearing, but my fangirl's heart is given to Erestor and Glorfindel. They're so much fun to write. :) Erestor is pretty close to sulking… help is indeed what he needs, and we know just who can get it to him. ;) Thank you for reviewing!

******Blade Swinger**: I'm so glad that you liked _Fallen to Ashes_! I always felt sorry for the Fëanorians, even though their deeds were awful. Maedhros, Maglor, and Celegorm are my favorites… Maglor because he's tragic, Maedhros because he's tragic too, and Celegorm because he was so fair. I don't know why, but the description of Celegorm as "the Fair" always makes me so sad for his corruption and death. And actually, in my family, I'm the personal-space freak… six inches, people:) Thank you for your review!  
_****__  
__Coming Soon: Chapter Fourteen: Healing_


	14. Healing

_**Chapter Fourteen: Healing**_

* * *

Rasaras tossed and turned in his bed. It was impossible to find a comfortable position. Had he not been sternly commanded by both Lord Elrond and his father to get plenty of sleep, then he would not have even bothered to try. It seemed as if no matter which way he turned, he either jammed his cast into his ribcage, or left one or two feet uncovered, or flattened his pillow until it was useless. 

He let out a frustrated breath and closed his eyes. Perhaps coming home had been the wrong decision. As wonderful as it was to be with his family, in the familiar environment of his own house, the bed in the healing chambers was a lot softer.

The door opened with a quiet _creak_. He did not bother to open his eyes. "Who's there?"

"Rassa?" The small voice seemed even smaller in the darkened room.

"Alphien? What are you doing out of bed?" He opened his eyes and turned toward the doorway. "You were supposed to be asleep hours ago."

She tiptoed into the room, shutting the door behind herself, and approached his bed. Her curly silver hair was braided back, but a few loose strands drifted around her face. "I can't sleep."

He chuckled at the irony. "Neither can I. Is something wrong?"

She shook her head and twirled the end of her braid around her fingers. "I just can't."

"Are you excited about your party tomorrow?"

She grinned and climbed onto his bed. "Laegrod and Serondrych will be there, and Alumien and Míri and…"

Rasaras laughed. "You must be very popular."

She grinned again and nodded. "Ada says so."

"Then it is true." Rasaras gave a contented sigh.

Alphien gave an exaggerated sigh, and then flopped down on top of him. He gave a sharp hiss of pain as the weight of her knee landed on his broken arm. "Allie… please move… my arm…"

She shifted off the cast, eyes wide. "Did I hurt you?"

Rasaras pasted a smile onto his face, willing the sharp pain to subside. "Not too much. I'm fine. Please be careful, though."

She nodded solemnly and then curled up on his other side. "I missed you, Rassa. Don't go away again."

He carefully reached forward to pull bits of her hair out of his mouth before answering. "Well, sometimes I have to go. People need me."

She gave a disapproving frown. "What about Ada and Nana and me?"

He smiled and gave her a hug. "I won't ever be gone for too long, Allie. I'll always come home."

She raised one eyebrow, practically mirroring one of Eltathar's expressions. "Promise?"

The face of Malchathol's widow rose before his mind's eye, but he easily dismissed it. "I promise," he said.

* * *

Elrond sighed as he let the curtain fall back down. It was snowing again.

At least this snow was a light one, not a blizzard. After this snow, the sky would clear, and the people of Imladris could dig themselves out of the drifts. Winter would bring more snow eventually, but this storm was over.

He squared his shoulders and turned to leave his chamber. Now he had to face a storm of another kind. The advisors were meeting today to decide who should take Belegon's place as the Captain of the Guard, and Elrond was hardly looking forward to the council. The advisors were hard to deal with when the issue at hand was one that touched them directly, as this one did. Whoever was named Captain of the Guard would work closely with the advisors concerning matters of diplomacy and strategy. Yet today promised to be even more difficult council: since Erestor was still recovering, he would not attend. Without their leader, the advisors could not be expected to reach a decision without bloodshed.

One of his apprentices, the healer Mírhael, met him in the hallway. The fastidious Noldo bowed as he approached. "Milord, may I have a word with you?"

"Yes?" said Elrond, pausing in his stride.

"You asked for a report on Master Erestor's condition, and the healers sent me to give you the good news." He paused, presumably for dramatic effect. He is doing remarkably well. Ever since the funeral yesterday, he has shown rapid improvement. His color is returning, he sleeps soundly, and we plan to take out the stitches later today. By tomorrow, he should be well enough to use crutches for his ankle."

Elrond lifted an eyebrow. He had checked on Erestor briefly the night before, and though the advisor had been asleep, there had definitely been something different about him. What had caused such a change?

"Very good, Mírhael," he said. "I must meet with my advisors today, but I will be back at noon to remove the stitches. Do you think that by tomorrow he will be well enough to attend a council meeting?"

Mírhael pondered the question, then slowly nodded. "As long as the activity is not too strenuous, then he should be fine. It would probably be good for him to get back to work. We have not let him do any paperwork, as you commanded, but I think that the inactivity is beginning to chafe him. As long as he is careful not to over-exert himself, then attending the council would be fine."

Elrond smiled inwardly. Erestor _never_ over-exerted himself. The most taxing activity that he would perform at the council was to walk into the room and sit down, or perhaps stand to give a speech of some sort. "Good. I would delay the council until tomorrow, but unfortunately I have ignored the issue for too long as it is."

Mírhael bowed. "Then with your leave, milord, I will return to my duties in the healing chambers."

"Go ahead," said Elrond, nodding and continuing toward the council hall. He never asked any of the people of Imladris to call him "milord" or bow before him, but Mírhael did. The healer seemed to be fussy about that sort of thing, even more so than Erestor.

He could hear the advisors before he even reached the door. The debates had begun before the council did, and already it had dissolved into bickering. Normally, Erestor would have silenced them by now, if only by scaring them into submission, but without him, they would not quiet.

Elrond sighed again as he opened the door to the council hall. The sooner Erestor recovered, the better.

* * *

Glorfindel found himself whistling as he walked out to the stables. The snow was light, and now that it was not impeding his progress, he enjoyed it. His scarf was bright red, but already it looked almost pink with snowflakes.

The stable master, Rochadan, gave him a slight bow as he entered. "Good morning, Lord Glorfindel."

Glorfindel breathed deeply of the warm scent of horses and hay. "Good morning, Rochadan. How are the horses?"

"Doing well, milord. The snow does not bother them, since the stable is warm, and we have plenty of oats and hay." The tall stable master paused to rub one horse's nose affectionately. "They are happy this morning, I believe."

"Well, that's always a good thing." Glorfindel indulged one gray stallion that had stretched out its nose for a rub. "I came to see Súlfëa. Would you mind directing me to her stall?"

"Of course, milord." Rochadan gave the horse's nose one final pat and walked away, chuckling at its whinny of protest. "She has fully recovered from the journey, I think, and now she is eager for another one. It is a hard thing to keep her in her stall when she wants to run, but the drifts are too deep right now."

"I understand," said Glorfindel emphatically. He understood all too well. Everything in Imladris was running smoothly, and there was nothing for him to do. He had come to the stables as much out of boredom as a desire to see Súlfëa.

The white mare recognized him immediately. She gave a little whinny and stretched out her neck, as if begging for him either to give her a carrot or to run her in the forest again.

Glorfindel laughed. "You miss the wolves, then?"

The sarcastic look of disbelief that she gave him was almost human. She snorted.

Glorfindel reached into his pocket and pulled out a carrot that he had taken from the kitchen when Meretheryn's back was turned. "A gift, milady. My thanks for your brave service."

She munched it, satisfied.

Rochadan chuckled. "You are not the first to congratulate her for her bravery, Lord Glorfindel, but I do not think that you will be the last, either. My son Serondrych has brought her apples every day since she returned, and she has milked the attention for all it is worth." He reached over to scratch a spot behind Súlfëa's right ear. "She deserves every bit of it."

Glorfindel smiled. Elrond certainly knew how to choose people for positions; Rochadan loved horses like parents did children. From what he had heard, the stable hands had grieved for the horses lost as much as the warriors had grieved for the Elves. "She has a lot of spirit."

"And plenty of charm to go with it." Rochadan backed away as Súlfëa tried to chew his hair. "Her foals will be the finest, I assure you."

"I have no doubt." Glorfindel gave the horse one last pat and then turned to leave. "Thank you, Rochadan."

The stable master nodded. "Good day, Lord Glorfindel."

* * *

Erestor looked up as the door to his room opened and Elrond came in. He smiled. "Good afternoon, Lord Elrond."

Elrond huffed. "I wish it was."

Erestor frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not really," said Elrond as he washed his hands in the basin in the corner. "I am simply frustrated with those infernal advisors."

"Have they not reached a decision yet?"

Elrond dried his hands on a nearby towel. "They are no closer to reaching a decision than they were when they began. In fact, I think they have only made it worse. I am tempted to simply let the warriors choose their own captain."

"That might work well for the warriors," said Erestor hesitantly, "but the Captain would have to interact with the advisors frequently. If they were not pleased with your choice, then they would flatly refuse to work with him." He smiled. "Do you remember how long it was before I could work with them, after you named me chief advisor?"

Elrond shuddered. "Yes." He picked up a nearby roll of bandages. "This should not take very long. All I have to do is cut the stitches and then rebandage the wound."

Erestor winced and looked away. It was one thing to be aware that there were stitches in his shoulder, and quite another to actually see them.

Elrond snipped away at the stitches. "Do you have a method for dealing with them? Even if you cannot get them all to agree, at least you can stop them from bickering like Elflings."

"I cannot say that I truly have a _method_, but they seem to listen to me. If all else fails, then threaten to fire them and create a council of Imladris's minstrels." He smiled. "I did that once, and it worked perfectly."

"Hmm," said Elrond as he cut the last stitch and pulled away the bloodied thread. He took out a clean bandage, and Erestor decided that it was safe to look again. "Maybe I should try that." Elrond finished tying on the bandage, then sat back and smiled. "Erestor, your shoulder has healed better than I thought that it would. Since it is almost completely mended, I will allow you to go ahead and start with the crutches today, as long as you promise to be careful."

"May I start catching up with the paperwork that I missed while I was away?"

Elrond shook his head. "Not yet. Spend the rest of today resting, either here or somewhere else, and then tomorrow you can start working again. You will probably tire very easily, so I suggest that you rest every once in a while."

Erestor sighed. "Very well, milord."

* * *

Glorfindel was beginning to get nervous.

There was no sign of Erestor anywhere. No one knew when they had seen him last. He had looked in the room, just to check on him, and he had not been there. Everything had been swept clean.

Finally he asked one of the maids. "Last I saw, he was in the library," she answered. "That was about two hours ago, I think."

It was the most recent time that he had heard, so he decided to go check. Even if Erestor was not still in the library, there might be someone there who could tell him where to look.

The library was dark, since its windows faced eastward, and it appeared to be empty. Glorfindel gave it a cursory glance, and was about to leave disappointed, when suddenly he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

It was Erestor. He was curled up on one of the window seats like a cat, fast asleep. His knees were bent and drawn up to his waist, one hand under his head and the other almost touching the floor. His eyes were closed, and there were bits of sable hair falling in his face. His crutches were propped up against the wall, next to a pile of thick books.

Glorfindel smiled with relief. He had half expected to see Erestor in trouble, but it was not so. The advisor was only getting a much-needed rest.

He walked up to the sleeping Elf and looked him over once, just to be sure that everything was all right, and decided against moving him to his room. Erestor looked so peaceful that Glorfindel did not have the heart to disturb him.

Glorfindel stepped out into the hallway and found one of the maids' linen closets. He opened it up and pulled out a dark blue blanket, as soft and thick as he could find. He tiptoed back into the library. Even if Elrond had cured Erestor's sensitivity to the cold, it was better to make sure now than to regret it later. He unfolded the blanket and threw it over the sleeping Elf.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. Erestor would be much more comfortable now. He was still pale, and his eyes were closed with weariness, but the healthy pink was beginning to return to his face.

Glorfindel smiled. Erestor _did_ look like a little cat, curled up on the window seat. "Sleep well, Master Feline," Glorfindel whispered.

He walked over to the library hearth and stirred the coals in the fireplace, then added a few logs. It would only be sensible to have someone nearby. Erestor was recovering, but he was not completely well. Besides, the library looked almost inviting when there was such a cheery fire in the hearth.

He pulled one of the armchairs up beside the fireplace and sat down, making sure the angle was such that he could keep an eye on both Erestor and the fire.

There had been times, especially in the last two weeks, that he had wished that Manwë had left him alone and allowed him to stay in Valinor with his family. Valinor was so blissful and wonderful, especially when it was compared to Middle-earth blizzards and endless enmity.

But it was times like this, a quiet winter night with a warm fire and the knowledge that all was well in his world, that made it all worthwhile.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**kingmaker**: The funeral scene was hard to write, since I felt a little mushy myself and I didn't want to overdo Erestor's reaction. Plus, I wondered if I would be "cheating" the readers by not going into the funeral. I would have, but the fact is that I have absolutely no idea what an Elvish funeral is like, and I didn't want to get too AU. I'm glad that you liked it! And thank you for the compliment… Glorfindel and Erestor have come a long way, but finally they are friends. Thanks for your review!

**LOTRFaith**: Yes, things are finally looking up for all of them. Erestor has had a time of it, but now his situation is looking brighter… I'm tempted to get punny and clichéd and say that the future is golden. Okay, sorry. :) Yes, Erestor is relatively young, but (in my universe, which may or may not correspond with Tolkien's… hope it does, but you never know for sure) he's learned to deal with most of it. He'll learn to move on, and now he has Glorfindel to help him. I'm glad that your author alerts are working! Thanks for reviewing!

**Avalon Estel**: No, crying isn't silly at all. Forgive me if I sound cruel when I say that I'm glad that you were emotional enough to cry over my story! It's a great compliment to an author. :) Everything is finally looking up for Glorfindel and Erestor. I sincerely hope that you don't stop reading this…! And now they are friends. I'm glad you liked the descriptions. I love describing things, but sometimes I have to tone it down, because I don't think that people really want to read five paragraphs about a daisy. :) I'm glad that I could fling Nuzgûl at you, even if it was unintentional! Thank you for your review!

**ellfine**: Erestor is on the mend now, and he has Glorfindel there to help him. I'm glad that you liked the healing. Thank you for reviewing!

**Coolio02**: raises an eyebrow Is there something important about March 18, that you should be glad I updated that day? I'm glad that you liked Glorfindel and Erestor's conversation. Everything is definitely looking up for them. Thank you for your review!

**SilverWolf7**: Perhaps is a very nice word indeed. But I've forgiven you for guessing correctly, so you don't need to be sorry at all. :) Don't apologize to Glorfindel either; he can get over it. Erestor is finally beginning to understand his problem, and it's a good thing for him that Glorfindel is there to help him work through it. I must confess, I like hurt/comfort too, as long as it's well done and not overly mushy. I'm glad that you liked Nienna's cameo! I actually had that idea before most of my other ones. I hope you get to write out the story it inspired soon! And I'm so glad that you updated "Lost"! Thank you for reviewing!

**EmySumei**: Yes, Glorfindel is a very understanding and caring Elf. Erestor is healing now, and with Glorfindel's help, I think he'll recover. :) Both of them were tired of hating one another, and so it was time for them to start anew. Thank you for your review!

**kenzimone**: Yes, Erestor and Glorfindel are finally friends. Elrond will more than likely be very relieved, though I wouldn't count on things being _quiet_. They are, after all, Erestor and Glorfindel. ;) Thank you for reviewing!

**BanbieBunny**: I'm so glad that you liked the climax! I had built up to it so long, I didn't want anyone to be disappointed. And yes, of course! (hands her a tissue) You can cry whenever you want. Thank you for your review!

**kel**: Yes, they're finally friends. I don't think Imladris could have put up with any more arguing, and besides, they really did need one another's friendship. Thank you for reviewing!

**Tarion Anarore**: Wow, thank you! How humbling. I'm glad that there are so many people that like the Sons of Fëanor as much as I do. I'm very flattered that you say you couldn't find a flaw! Thank you very, very much for your review!

**seeing-spots:** Yes, it is a strange paradox, isn't it? Friends for life who still feel the urge to kill one another on occasion. But I'm glad that you like it! The charm of Erestor and Glorfindel. ;) I hoe you like this one, since you've looked forward to it for… um… never mind how long. I hope to see more of Grinding Ice soon! And… a new story? Must go read that! Thank you for reviewing!

**Yavieriel Tarandir**: I'm glad that you liked _Endless Sun_! Yes, the sundering of the Elves and Men is definitely a sad fate, though I hope that Ilúvatar will have mercy on them at the world's end, and the two kindred will not be sundered forever. Thank you for your kind review!

**Ramarama**: This, the end? No, not at all! There will be fifteen chapters and an epilogue, total. I'm definitely with you as far as effort/outcome… so much for so little, it seems! But then, if the readers are happy, then it's worth every bit. I knew you weren't being critical! I was agreeing with you. I hope this update is soon enough… though I suspect that it's as possible for an update to be quick enough as it is for a chapter to be long enough! ;) Thank you for reviewing!

**Sirielle**: Don't worry; I understand. Unfortunately, I'm the same way far too often. Yes, Erestor and Glorfindel are finally friends, after all the hardship and waiting. Actually, as to the Númenóreans… they don't show up in the rest of _this_ story, but they're tapping on my shoulder for inclusion in another story to come. 4am? Wow, you have strength of will… at 4am, I'm dead to the world! Thank you for your review!

_Coming Soon: Chapter Fifteen: Beginning_


	15. Beginning

_**Chapter Fifteen: Beginning**_

Glorfindel waited until Elrond's advisors were at their loudest before he opened the door to the council hall and slipped inside. He was so bored that even a council sounded interesting.

He had been included in a few councils when he had first come to Imladris, but after everyone had discovered that he had very little to add to decisions about inter-settlement trading and diplomatic relations with the Elven kingdoms to the northwest, he had stopped coming. This council, though, promised to be interesting: they were about to choose the next Captain of the Guard. Glorfindel sat down quietly at the back. As long as no one noticed him, then he would not be interrupting.

He noticed Erestor, sitting calmly near Elrond's place at the front of the room. The Chief Advisor was not participating either. He appeared to be deep in thought, as if he was trying to work something out for himself. Glorfindel could not help but wonder what he was thinking.

The advisors under Erestor had apparently decided that it was a bad idea that any two of them should agree about anything. They asserted their individual views—loudly—all at once. A few advisors had even fallen to bickering with one another, and accusations and opinions flew back and forth like arrows. Glorfindel hoped that there would not be any fistfights.

The random thought occurred to him that Erestor could not be too happy with the current state of the council: the advisor prided himself, it seemed, on his ability to control the others, and any disruption of that carefully maintained order was bound to make him angry. Perhaps he was still too tired to notice the disorder or do anything about it.

Suddenly Erestor stood. He did not shout for attention or even hold up a hand. The other advisors noticed him and abruptly fell silent. Glorfindel could not help feeling impressed— the advisors obviously had an immense amount of respect for the dark-haired Elf.

Erestor waited until the room was completely hushed before he began to speak. "There has been much debate as to the successor to Belegon Taurvagorion as Captain of the Imladris Guard," he began. He did not shout, but it was so quiet in the room that even his quiet voice was easy to hear. "Many suggestions have been put forth, and each one has merit of its own. However, as we can all agree, the one we choose must be in all ways superior to the other candidates."

There were scattered nods of agreement.

"Many qualities are desirable in a Captain of the Guard," continued Erestor. "These qualities include the ability to command respect from followers, make and carry out decisions quickly and decisively, and stand firm and courageous in any difficulty. There are other desirable qualities, such as familiarity with the land, but often they may be supplemented by another able warrior acting as a lieutenant."

Again, no one voiced a complaint. Erestor was merely stating facts.

"We are all aware of the tragedy that recently struck the Guard," said Erestor. Glorfindel searched the advisor's face, but could find no trace of emotion in his expression. "Captain Belegon's death was caused by an error in judgment. While it was an understandable error, and one that many others would have made, he paid for it with his own life and those of two of Imladris's most powerful warriors."

There were sober-faced nods all around the room.

Erestor continued. "Now we are left with the question of how to replace him with another. We do not wish to find a substitute, though; we desire the leadership of one who will be an even better Captain of the Guard than Belegon. We desire an individual whose wisdom is deeper than his, whose abilities are higher than his, whose power will endure where his fell. We remember Belegon and do not tarnish his memory, but we seek to preserve the people that he defended. We know that it only honors him to continue the tradition he kept, and make our selection based on the standards he left us. Even as a father wishes his son to succeed where he himself may have failed, so Belegon would desire a successor who will protect Imladris and its people even better than he did."

Glorfindel took his eyes off Erestor long enough to glance around the room. Every single one of the advisors was intent on Erestor's speech, and none of them had a look of disagreement. Instead of taking sides, the Chief Advisor had simply brushed aside the arguments and centered the debate on the principles themselves. He had placed everything in such a light that to replace Belegon with anything less than the best was to dishonor everything he stood for. Erestor had not involved his own opinions, but by clarifying the issue, he had harmonized the opinions of everyone else. They were all united in a common purpose once again. Glorfindel was impressed.

Elrond cleared his throat. "Is there a specific person that you have in mind, Erestor?"

Erestor gave a small, respectful nod. "I do indeed, Lord Elrond. This individual has proven himself worthy of great renown. He has had experience with commanding both a large army and a small group, with overwhelming success in both circumstances. No matter what choice he makes, he is always resourceful and talented enough to bring any situation to a conclusion that satisfies all involved. All who know him hold for him both profound respect and heartfelt admiration. His skill in combat is unrivaled, and none live that would dare stand against him. It is my opinion that he is more than a candidate for this position; he is the ideal for which this position was created."

A ripple of excited conversation ran around the room. "Name him!" one advisor called.

Erestor suddenly smiled. "I nominate Glorfindel Alkamacarion, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, for the position of Captain of the Imladris Guard."

There was a second of stunned silence before the room erupted in a clamor of shocked voices. Everyone was talking except for Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel. Elrond leaned back in his chair and gazed at Erestor with an expression of mingled amusement and approval. Erestor sat calmly down and began rearranging his papers. Glorfindel was completely speechless.

Finally Elrond stood and raised a hand for silence. "Master Erestor has indeed put forth an interesting suggestion. Do any wish to speak against it?"

All of the advisors looked back and forth at one another. Everyone looked surprised, but no one had anything to say. Even the fiercest supporters of particular warriors were silent.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel, an almost mischievous smile on his face. "Lord Glorfindel, do you wish to disagree with Master Erestor's suggestion?"

Erestor stared up at Elrond, a look on his face of complete surprise, and then followed the Elf-lord's gaze across the room to Glorfindel. It was obvious that he had not been aware that Glorfindel was even in the room.

Glorfindel cleared his throat. "My only disagreement would be that he praises me far too highly," he said with a slight tremor in his voice. He was used to hearing people gush on and on about how much they adored him, but this was different. Hero-worship always made him feel flattered, but Erestor's words made him feel strangely humble, especially since he knew the advisor had never meant for him to hear them. "But if this is what you wish me to do, I would accept the duty without hesitation."

Elrond nodded. "We will assemble the Guard and obtain their consent before we officially name Lord Glorfindel as Captain of the Guard, but I believe it is safe to say that they will not disagree. I declare this council adjourned."

* * *

Rasaras had almost finished polishing the blade of his dagger, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. He quickly laid aside the blade, stood, and went to answer it.

"Mírhael!" he said, smiling, as he ushered the apprentice healer inside. He had become acquainted with the fussy Noldo much more in the healing halls, and they had formed a thin friendship. "If you are here to speak to my father, then I am sorry, but he is not here. He is at the practice field with a few of his students. My mother and sister are away at the moment as well." Aranna and Alphien had gone to see Vairiel, the seamstress, to get measurements for Alphien's begetting-day present from Eltathar and Aranna. They had promised to have a new dress made for her, and Alphien was practically walking on air.

Mírhael set down his healer's satchel and began to rummage through its contents. "Actually, Rasaras Eltatharion, I am here to see _you_."

"Oh." Rasaras unconsciously moved a hand to his cast. "Is it about my arm?"

"Partially so." He pulled out a few jars of salves and powders. "I also have a bit of news that I am sure you will find to be _very_ interesting."

Rasaras raised en eyebrow. "News?"

"Yes indeed." Mírhael re-shouldered the satchel, balancing the jars in his hands. "Is there a specific place that you would like me to work?"

"I don't think that Naneth will mind if we use the kitchen," said Rasaras, leading Mírhael to the appropriate room. "As a matter of fact, she left the kettle out in case I wanted to make tea. Would you like some?"

Mírhael laid all of his healing supplies on the table. "No, thank you."

Rasaras set the kettle aside. "What is this piece of news that you came to deliver?"

"I will tell you soon enough. Come and sit down so that I can work on your arm."

Obediently, Rasaras pulled back two chairs, one for Mírhael and one for himself. One thing that he had learned in the healing chambers was that when Mírhael was working, it was no use trying to distract him. "Are you going to take the cast off?"

"No, Lord Elrond will do that in a week or so. I am only here to see how it is doing." He took a small spoon and began to mix the salves and powders together into a paste. "I also need to examine your upper arm, to make sure that the cast is not causing problems."

Rasaras rolled up his sleeve, looking at the paste with a wary eye. It was a strange shade of brownish green, and the smell was awful.

Mírhael ignored the look and scooped some of the paste up in his fingers. "My news," he began, "concerns the Guard."

"The Guard?" Rasaras asked, his attention more focused on the paste than Mírhael.

The healer studied the skin above the cast, frowned, and began to rub the paste on Rasaras's upper arm. "Lord Elrond's council of advisors has met recently to discuss the question as to who will be the successor of the late Captain Belegon." Mírhael was none too gentle about how he rubbed the paste onto the offending skin. "There is a risk that this spot might become irritated, and this should prevent that."

Rasaras squirmed. The smell was almost overpowering, though his arm did feel better. The paste had a soothing quality. "Have they decided, then?" he asked, going back to the former topic.

"Their decision was handed down late yesterday." Mírhael finished with the paste and wiped off his fingers on a nearby rag. "All that they need now is the approval of the Guard."

"Well, who did they choose?"

Mírhael's face was turned away from Rasaras as he closed the jars of salves and powders, but even so, Rasaras detected the subtle flicker of a smile on his face. "Lord Glorfindel."

"Really?" burst Rasaras, so surprised that he nearly shouted. Mírhael grimaced and touched one ear. "Apologies. But… they chose Lord Glorfindel as our captain?"

Mírhael began to put the jars away in his satchel. "It would seem so."

Rasaras grinned. "That's wonderful!" Then he chuckled as another thought occurred to him. "I wonder how long it took them to convince Master Erestor to agree with them. He was probably in favor of sending Lord Glorfindel back to Valinor, one way or another."

Mírhael chuckled. "Actually, the rumor that I heard asserts that it was Master Erestor who put forth the suggestion."

"Master Erestor?" asked Rasaras incredulously. "I thought that he and Lord Glorfindel hated one another."

Mírhael shrugged. "Perhaps you are mistaken." He stood. "You are obviously in favor of the council's decision, so would you like me to simply relay the message to Lord Elrond?"

"Of course," said Rasaras, standing as well and leading Mírhael to the door. He did not roll down his sleeve; he wanted the paste to dry before he would risk getting it on his shirt. "Thank you for coming."

"It is no bother." Mírhael opened the door and stepped out, then turned around and smiled. "Your arm is healing nicely, Rasaras, and Lord Elrond will be pleased when he removes the cast. Congratulations on surviving your first battle wound."

Rasaras grinned and gave him a mock-salute. "Thank you… and I hope it's my last."

Mírhael did not answer verbally, but he gave Rasaras a very eloquent smirk before he turned and continued away down the path.

* * *

The ceremony to initiate Glorfindel as the Captain of the Guard was held the next week. The warriors of the Guard had been unanimous in their decision to accept him as their new captain, and even the advisors seemed cheerful on the day of the initiation.

Since the ceremony was held in the morning, that afternoon found Erestor hard at work on his translations. The essay about the fourteen different lords of Doriath was almost complete, and as he neared the end, he found that it was almost enjoyable again.

There was still a glad bustle outside, as the servants took down all the finery and decorations that had been used for Glorfindel's ceremony. Erestor found that he did not really mind the noise, for once.

Glorfindel was going to make a good captain, he reflected. The Vanya had already won the hearts of his warriors—and everyone else—and he had the wisdom of two lives to bring to his position.

As a matter of fact, he was already talking about attending the council in Mithlond—it had been rescheduled once Lord Círdan had learned about the disaster, and would be held in the coming spring. This time, there would be a few more guards as they traveled, and there would be no danger of snowstorms. Rasaras would go, of course.

Erestor added a flourish to the final word of the translation and laid his pen aside, relishing the feeling of satisfaction that came from finishing a long work. It had not been an easy translation, but he had done it, and he had done it well.

Just as he was capping his inkwell, he heard a noise outside, more than just the bustle of the servants. Curious, he stood and walked over to the window.

It was a group of warriors from the Guard, coming back from a patrol. Erestor could see Rasaras among them, laughing with his fellow warriors as he dismounted, and a few other familiar faces. Lord Elrond was even there, having apparently been on a walk in the gardens.

But it was neither the Elves nor Lord Elrond that arrested his attention. The commotion was centered on a single rider, a tall Elf just dismounting his proud white stallion. The Elf stood almost casually, and there was an easy, careless smile on his sharp-featured face. He was dressed in a cerulean tunic and gray leggings, and a dark blue cloak was spread over his broad shoulders. Over the cloak and tunic, reaching almost to the Elf's elbows, cascaded a gleaming river of bright golden hair.

Glorfindel was laughing with his warriors, joking with them about the pageantry at the ceremony and the formal uniforms that they had had to wear. Lord Elrond gave him a tolerant smile, which was a good thing since the uniforms had been his idea.

Erestor smiled. Yes, Glorfindel would make a wonderful captain indeed.

* * *

It was early evening, right after sunset, when Glorfindel finally headed to his chamber to relax. The day had been fuller than most, and for once he was eager to rest.

The servants smiled as they passed him in the hall. "Good evening, _Captain_ Glorfindel," they said. They spoke with an almost possessive tone, as if now that he was officially the captain of the Imladris Guard, he somehow belonged to Imladris and its people.

He didn't mind at all. It was good to feel like a part of something again. Before, he had wondered if that feeling of belonging had been forever lost with the fall of Gondolin, but it had returned. That life was gone, this one was new. It was the beginning.

He was so wrapped up in his optimistic thoughts that he did not notice a door opening right in front of him, and so he was startled when he collided with an Elf carrying a massive stack of carefully balanced books.

"Erestor!" he said, jumping to help collect the scattered volumes. "My apologies, I didn't see you."

"Think nothing of it," Erestor grunted. He started to re-stack the books.

Glorfindel eyed the growing pile. "Do you want any help? Surely you don't intend to carry that whole stack down to the library by yourself. It must weigh as much as you do."

Erestor looked like he was about to refuse, but then he stopped, compared the books and Glorfindel, and then shrugged. "Very well. If you will take these, then I will get the rest of them."

Glorfindel took the books that Erestor had indicated, then waited as Erestor collected the rest. He glanced at one of the titles, then raised an eyebrow. "You read history books for _fun?_"

"Of course," said Erestor, looking surprised. "I find them fascinating."

Glorfindel shook his head as he placed the book back on his stack. "You know, Erestor, sometimes I worry about you."

"The feeling is mutual," retorted Erestor dryly as he stood and balanced the tall stack of books in his arms.

Glorfindel stood, took a few more books from the top of Erestor's stack and added them to his own, then nodded. "Lead the way then, O Master Historian."

Since the night was still young, they met many people in the hallway. Everyone had a word of congratulations for Glorfindel, and he returned each one with a friendly smile.

As soon as they reached the library, a group of librarians rushed forward to help carry the books.

"Filitessë," said Erestor to one of the librarians, handing her a stack of papers, "I have that translation you requested. I apologize about how long it took me to finish it."

She smiled and accepted the stack. "Many thanks, Master Erestor. And do not worry about time… I heard about everything that happened. I'm just glad that you came back to finish them."

Erestor returned the smile. "I never leave a job unfinished, milady." He dipped his head. "If there is anything else you need, do not hesitate to ask."

"You know I never do," Filitessë said, laughing. "Thank you."

Erestor and Glorfindel finished unloading the books, then turned to leave. But before they could, they were interrupted by a tugging on Erestor's sleeve. It was Lindir.

"Hello, Lindir," said Erestor kindly. "How is your music?"

Lindir smiled. "My father says that I am improving every day." Then a look of pleading came into his silver-blue eyes. "But I need your help."

Erestor looked surprised. "I thought that Glorfindel was teaching you the songs that he knew." He looked up at Glorfindel. "Was that not the arrangement?"

Glorfindel suppressed a grin. "Actually, I was just working with Lindir yesterday, and we have discovered a problem. There are plenty of songs that I can teach him, but they are all in Quenya. They need to be translated into Sindarin so that everyone in the Hall of Fire can enjoy them."

Erestor's eyes narrowed, but then a slow smile broke across his face, and he put a hand on Lindir's shoulder. "I would be glad to help you," he said.

Lindir beamed. "Thank you, Master Erestor! Can we do it tomorrow?"

"As long as Captain Glorfindel is not occupied, then that would be fine with me," said Erestor.

Glorfindel smiled. "Tomorrow afternoon is wonderful."

"Thank you!" said Lindir, grinning at both Elves. Someone down the hallway called his name, and so he turned to leave, but he waited long enough to toss "See you tomorrow!" over his shoulder.

As soon as Lindir was out of earshot, Erestor turned to Glorfindel, a suspicious glint in his eyes. "You know how to translate songs, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel shrugged, struggling to choke down a laugh. "Now that I have so many duties as the captain, I hardly have the time, and since you are obsessed with paperwork, I thought that it would be the perfect job for you."

Erestor scowled, but there was a smile in his eyes. "I am _not_ obsessed with paperwork."

"Says the Elf who nearly threw a fit at the healers because they would not let him work on his sickbed," Glorfindel retorted."According to Mírhael, they threatened to drug you senseless if you did not stop pestering them to fetch you parchment and a quill."

Erestor tried to look angry, but it was a lost cause. "Say what you will," he said primly. "But at least _I_ do not look like a dandelion."

At that, Glorfindel lost the struggle and laughed. "No, my friend, you do not," he said, clapping Erestor on the back. "But I will tolerate your company nonetheless."

Erestor smiled as well. "Thank you," he said.

And it was obvious that he meant it.

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_**

**This is the last chapter of FI, but there is a short epilogue.**

**seeing-spots**: Thank you for the compliment! I actually know very little about real horses, but I've read a lot of horse fiction, so apparently those were very good authors. ;) I'm very jealous that you owned a horse! Lucky you. I'm glad that you liked the last sentence! That moment in the library was one of the ones that I had planned from the beginning, and I'm glad that you liked it. Thank you for your review!

**ellfine**: Some people just have a hard time getting along, and Elrond's advisors are no different. Allie is one of my favorites to work with… I don't often do children, but she has been a treat. Rasaras is blessed to have a sister like her. Thank you for reviewing!

**CapriceAnn Hedican-Kodur**: I'm glad that you like it! This is the last chapter, but there is an epilogue… and there will be a sequel. Thank you very much for your review!

**Svadilfari**: Don't worry! I understand. I hope your knees recover from all the begging! ;) I'm so glad to hear that you like Rasaras so much! I was proud of him too. He does inspire a slightly maternal reaction, doesn't he? Glorfindel's father is one of my oft-quoted but never-seen characters, but I'm tempted to work with him a little more. Since I just found a tantalizing theory about Glorfindel's parentage, I'm eager to do something with his history. And I'm horrified that you would want to smack Erestor! Though I will admit, he was being pretty obstinate until he and Glorfindel finally made up. And yes, I'll go ahead and give it away that Súlfëa is a member of Asfaloth's bloodline. That frisky horse is a descendant of this frisky horse, and there will be more in between. Thank you for reviewing!

**EmySumei**: Glorfindel is very endearing indeed, and I'm glad you liked him in this chapter! Erestor is extremely dedicated to his work. I'm not sure whether he just loves doing it, or if he thinks that everything is going to go to pieces unless he's in control of it, but he's _very_ dedicated. Thank you for your review!

**BanbieBunny**: Wow, thank you! I wanted so badly to slip that line back in, so I built the whole scene around that. Nicknames can be used in more than one way. :) Thank you for reviewing!

**kingmaker**: Frodo looked very comfortable in his Rivendell healing-chamber bed in the movie, so it seemed to make sense to me that they were pretty nice. Modern hospitals could learn a lot from Elrond! Erestor may not be a social butterfly, but he knows how to whip a group of bickering advisors into order. They might not like him, but they listen when he talks. I would love to nap in a library! They're so peaceful, and there's an almost reverent atmosphere in a place so full of ancient knowledge, that I think Erestor would be very comfortable sleeping there. I might have to make up Elvish funeral rites before I finish writing fanfiction, but unfortunately I'm not looking forward to it. Killing Elves is so awful, but you're right, it might be good to try it. Thank you for your review!

**SilverWolf7**: I'm glad you liked that scene! As you see, Lord Posy the Dandelion found his way back in… Glorfindel and Erestor have inside jokes, now, I suppose. I felt like I almost abandoned Súlfëa after she brought Glorfindel and Erestor home, but I didn't want to just forget about her, and I didn't think that Glorfindel would either. She certainly deserves her reward! Elrond is a very good healer, and I think he understands when things unexpectedly change for the better, just like he does when things take a turn for the worst. I loved your chapter of "Lost," and I need to go review it. To be honest, when I read it, I was a bit too emotional to put my thoughts in order, and I never have gone back to it. But I will. Thank you for reviewing!

**Avalon Estel**: Thank you very much for the compliment! ;) I love Rasaras and Allie. Working with the two of them (Rasaras, especially) has been one of the major highlights of this story for me. Mírhael is another fun-to-work-with character, and I can't wait to do more with him in the sequel. And I'm so glad that you liked the library scene! That one has been in my mind since the beginning, and it was wonderful to be able to add it. And of course, everyone loved the "Master Feline" line so much that I had to slip it back in. :) Thank you for your review!

**Ramarama**: No, it's not the end yet. This is the last chapter, but there is a very short epilogue. I'm honored that you were so happy about the update! Elrond doesn't like how much his advisors argue, but I'm sure that they're useful some of the time. As for Erestor's sleeping position… actually, I sleep like that often. My mom tells me that I've curled up in a little ball to sleep ever since I was small. It's very comfortable, as long as you don't turn your neck the wrong way. I'm glad you liked the image of that scene! I had fun picturing it myself. :) At the moment, I wish I could have that fire, too… computer labs are chilly, even in spring. Thank you for reviewing!

**kenzimone**: I've always thought of Erestor as rather catty, too. He can be finicky and aloof, but at least he doesn't shed or claw up furniture. ;) He is definitely on the road to recovery now. Thank you for your review!

**xXxReixXx**: I'm glad that you liked "Snowballs," and I hope you didn't hurt yourself! ;) Thank you for reviewing!

_Coming Soon: Epilogue_


	16. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_12 Súlimë, 1962 S.A.  
__Mithlond_

_Dear Ada,_

_We arrived safely in Mithlond late last night. I would have written you then, but Captain Glorfindel insisted that we sleep through the night. It would not do, I suppose, to come to the council looking like we have just finished a long and exhausting journey, though we have._

_The ambassadors are in council now, including Master Erestor. Captain Glorfindel invited us to spar with a few of the other guardsmen, but I decided to write to you first. I will join them later._

_Mithlond is beautiful, Ada. Captain Glorfindel did not take us near enough to the coast to hear the gulls, but here, it is easy to imagine them. Master Erestor says that it would hardly be appropriate to attend the council, gather the necessary treaties and reports, and then leave for Valinor as soon as it has ended. I agree with him, though I would have liked to hear the fabled gulls._

_We will begin the return journey as soon as the council is over. Master Erestor says that it should not take too long; but then, the captain says that for Master Erestor, no council is ever too long. Councils are to Master Erestor what parties are to Elflings, according to Captain Glorfindel._

_I hope to be home soon. Give Nana a kiss for me, and tell Allie that I have found something to bring her at last. I love you._

_Sincerely,_

_Rasaras Eltatharion.__

* * *

_

_**The End.

* * *

**_

_**Author's Notes**:_

Some of you may know already that writing this story was not easy for me. I tend to be the kind of person who gets an idea for a story, writes some of it, and then gets distracted with another idea. Hardly any of my stories have ever been finished. _First Impressions_ is the first long story that I've ever finished, and I'm so happy and proud of it that I could burst. :)

I know I say in my notes at the end of every chapter that I am grateful for all the reviews, but I want to say it again here: thank you to all of my reviewers! You all have been the driving force that kept me with this story, and you may congratulate yourselves with the fact that had it not been for all of you, this story would not have been. Thank you all so much!

And then there are the special thanks, which I would like to include here:

**J.R.R. Tolkien**, for creating an incredible world and allowing me to play in it. All hail the Professor!

**Sixpence None the Richer**, for the songs "Tension is a Passing Note" and "A Million Parachutes." Those two songs played steadily in my CD player through this project, and they have been a marvelous inspiration.

**Microsoft Word**, for eating various chapters and sections at various times, forcing me to rewrite them from scratch. What a lesson in perseverance I learned from this program.

**My youngest sister**, for being supportive and encouraging since the beginning of my writing career. She is always ready to be a sounding board for new ideas, and her suggestions have added much to _First Impressions_ and all the other stories I've done.

**My middle sister,** for changing her mind about fanfiction because of _First Impressions_. That one bit of encouragement meant the world to me, and it came at the time that I needed it most.

**And lastly**, most of all, a big thank you goes out to **Erestor**. It has been a privilege and an honor to have her beta this story, and I am forever in her debt. Had it not been for her grammar corrections and parenthetical comments, this story would not be half of whatit is today.From the day that I asked her if she agreed with my theory that Erestor and Glorfindel weren't always friends, to the day that she sent me the corrected version of the epilogue, she has been there to encourage and inspire.My deepest, sincerest thanks will _never_ be enough.

Yes, everyone, there will be a sequel. It's in the planning stages right now, and given my obsessive drive to plan and outline, it might remain in the planning stage for some time. But not forever. Glorfindel and Erestor are too much fun to leave alone for good. ;)

Until next time,

_Ithiliel Silverquill_


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